


Mahogany and Whiskey

by lyn452



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Compliant, Drama, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/M, Humor, Prequel, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-10
Updated: 2017-03-22
Packaged: 2018-07-22 15:56:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 51,724
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7445098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyn452/pseuds/lyn452
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She was everything he hated about the Capitol, but for some reason, he found he couldn't hate her…</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Effie Tricket saw it as paying her dues. She would serve as the District 12 escort, put up with the drunken fool of a mentor and then sooner or later, be assigned to a better district. She had already worked so hard to get to the position of escort, what was another couple of years of hard work? She would do this for a couple of years until a gamemaker realized that her talents were being wasted on an unworthy district. She would be promoted to another district and some other new escort could take this awful district.

She was hoping for 1 or 2. After all, they almost exclusively produced the winners, who were always attractive and marketable. Not only that, but they always had the best costumes and she had heard stories of past escorts being rewarded with jewels or other special items for their work once the victors gained their prizes.

Not to mention how nice it would be to work with some of those mentors; in fact, District 4 wouldn’t be so bad an assignment either – she still blushed when Finnick Odair appeared on screen for every Hunger Game.

Still, this was an important assignment for her and a huge step in right direction for her career. So she approached it with professionalism. She wore her best outfit for the first day on the job and learned all she could about the mentor she would be working with, Haymitch Abernathy.

First, she watched his victory. Admittedly, it was clever though not a very entertaining strategy. The fact that he won during a Quarter Quell with twice the usual tributes was impressive.

Then she watched his subsequent public appears and it became clear very soon that he was belligerent drunk who would be difficult to manage. At least he was entertaining now, even if it was for all the wrong reasons.

Still, it made her loath her job even more.

* * *

Haymitch looked for another bottle of vodka before he had to be out on stage for another reaping. He needed more strength just to show up every year for another set of kids to be lined up for the slaughter, and until they made actual liquid strength or courage or whatever you wanted to call it, he would have to settle for booze. Unable to find any vodka, he settled for whiskey.

This year would be a little different. He had received notice that his district had a new escort this year. She had some dumb Capitol name, Yuffie, maybe?

It didn’t matter. Really everyone from the Capitol was about the same, at least where the face of the games were concerned. They were showmen and women who wanted to put on a good show, never minding the fact that this particular show was in fact the annual slaughter of 23 children. No, for them, it was just a game.

He hated them all.

He heard the tapping at his door, but ignored it in favor of his bottle. The tapping grew more insistent and was soon accompanied by a female voice calling, “Mr. Abernathy?”

Haymitch nearly laughed, nobody had ever called him mister before. She would learn soon.

It wasn’t long before his door was opened and he got his first look at District 12’s new escort. She looked even more ridiculous than the last one, but as far as he could tell, she actually appeared to be attractive underneath it all. She immediately covered her nose and mouth at the smell that he was sure was repugnant. He didn’t notice anymore, but he knew that his house was hardly ever cleaned and the few visitors he had always admonished him for the nasty smell.

This Capitol woman didn’t say anything about it though, instead she told him, “You are not camera-ready.”

He did laugh at that, like he cared how he looked. But she must have because she came over and made him stand up. This time she didn’t cover her face from the smell of him. She straightened out his jacket and dusted it off.

Haymitch didn’t like the invasion of personal space, so he smiled lewdly and grabbed her. She squeaked, “Yuffie, I think I’m going to like you.”

She swatted at his arms. “My name is Effie. Effie Trinket. Let go of me.”

He attempted to kiss her, which caused her to scream and smack his face. He let go of her and she ran out of his house as fast as her high heels could take her.

When she was gone, Haymitch smiled. It was always fun to get back at the Capitol, even when it was in very insignificant ways.

* * *

The last District 12 escort had warned Effie about the boorish manners of the district, especially the mentor, but Effie still wasn’t prepared for the ogre to have gone as far as he did. What if the awful man groped her during the ceremony? How would she be expected to maintain her composure then? 

She took a deep breath. Times like these were sent to try, and she would rise about hers. She would get a better district. The last escort had merely given up, but not Effie Trinket. No, she would whip that vulgar mentor into a somewhat presentable one and perhaps even get a victor. The last was a long shot she knew, but anything was possible with the right attitude.

She straightened out her outfit and her hair before going into the mayor’s house, where she would wait until the official ceremony started. Part of her was so nervous no matter how prepared she was. She had practiced her lines over and over last night and had rewatched many of the most recent games in case the choosen tributes had any questions. Granted, they would normally ask their mentor for such advice, but seeing the state he was in, she knew that she may be required to step up and show that she was willing to go the extra mile. This would hopefully be noticed and she would be reassigned from this crappy district in no time.

It wasn’t long before her first ceremony began. The annual film played, reminding everyone why the Hunger Games existed and what the rules were. She always loved to watch this snippet of history, but this time all she could see was the empty chair where the District 12 mentor was supposed to be.

For the first time, she thought, ‘Where was Haymitch?’ It would not be the last time she had the thought.

When she began to speak about the honor of being here and the greatness of the games, her introduction was interrupted by the drunken man stumbling on to the stage. She tried not to let it bother her, refusing to let her big break pass her by. She merely smiled and said, “Ladies first.”

It had been a real worry that she would incorrectly pronounce the name on the slip of paper or some other nonsense, ruining her first time. But it was an easy name and she called it clearly.

The girl who came forward was a young teenager, with limp blonde hair and looked like she hadn’t eaten in weeks. The part of her that once bet on games with her sister thought, ‘She’ll be lucky to get through the first day.’

The boy wasn’t much better though he was older and appeared to have some muscles. This year didn’t look like it would change the districts luck. She nearly pouted, as that meant there would be no highlight footage played repeatedly with her and her new outfit. But she kept the smile on ending with the usual, “May the odds be ever in your favor.”  

They certainly weren’t in hers.

* * *

Haymitch boarded the train at the last possible moment he could. He hated the train trip more than even watching the games and trying to court sponsors. At least he could usually spend most of the games in the bar with Chaff, as their districts were usually out of the running pretty quickly. After his first look at this year’s tributes, he had no reason to believe this year would be any different. 

He made his way to the dining car immediately. He ignored the kids at the table and the new escort, making a beeline to the bar. He fixed himself a drink and then plopped down at the free seat at the end of the table. He looked up and saw Effie’s pursed lips and glaring eyes.

If he cared what she thought, he may have obeyed her silent command to behave himself.

She tried to start up some small talk with everyone at the table. But the kids were too busy eating more food than Haymitch suspected they had ever seen and he was too busy trying to drink away the pain of dining with two walking corpses.

Eventually, Effie said something that caught Haymitch’s attention, “Perhaps you children could tell Haymitch and me about some of your skills. That way he can better train you as soon as you arrive.”

She said it with an encouraging smile and Haymitch was flabbergasted by the almost sound advice and strategy this Capitol show pony was offering the tributes. The girl said nothing, but was eating slower now. The boy did answer, “I’m one of the fastest boys in my class. I nearly always win races with the other boys and girls.”

Haymitch emptied his glass. “That’s a great strategy. Run and hide. Never mind the fact that any of the careers are sure to be far better at running and good trackers besides, assuming the arena has any good hiding places anyway.”

The ensured both of the kids would be silent for the rest of the meal, as they both bowed their heads, looking only at their food.

Effie was back to glaring at him. She tried to engage the children again, attempting to go over how they should present themselves on television and trying to schedule a time for coaching both of them for their pre-game interviews. Neither seemed interested. Eventually she gave up, sending them to their rooms with a sigh.

Haymitch smirked, but Effie reeled on him. “You’re supposed to be helping them. Their very lives are in your hands and you treat it all as some big joke.”

Her words sparked something long buried in him and Haymitch responded without his usual snarking tone, “Unlike you, I never asked for this job.” He picked up a bottle of champagne that had been chilling. “Now if you’ll excuse me.”

She called out after him, “You could at least pretend to care. It would be helpful if they thought someone was on their side.”

That was the moment he realized this escort was different; she was ambitious, dumb and shallow, just like the rest of the Capitol folk, but this one actually seemed to care.

He wondered how long that would last.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Effie continued to try to coax both of her tributes out of their shells as they traveled to the Capital. She told them all the facts she knew of the lands they passed. She tried to get them excited about the Capital. She talked about the glorious history of the Games and some of the legendary Victors.

Nothing got through to them though.

She knew how important it was in the Games to be likeable and memorable. Right now, no one she knew would support either of these scared little mice. They stood no chance without some assistance in the Games. She had to give them some personality.

The girl flinched every time Effie moved, and she knew if she scared the girl, she’d be lucky not to wet herself when she saw the Career tributes. Part of Effie wanted to abandon the girl completely, but she would not give up so easily. At least the girl took direction.

The boy held a little more promise, but he was so meek and shy that she knew the key would be getting him to come out of his shell. But Haymitch had scared him and he was completely closed off now.

It would all be so much easier if she was getting any help from the Mentor. This was his job, after all. She was in charge of escorting them, making sure they were at the right places at the right times and acting in the proper Capital fashion. It was not her job to help them win the games, minus helping them attract sponsors. She merely wanted to see it happen. It would be a good career move and the Games were always better when an underdog won it.

She knocked on Haymitch’s door, secure in the knowledge that he couldn’t have made his room as revolting as his house, not in so short of a time. She heard glass being knocked around and Haymitch opened the door a crack, only revealing a squinting eye. “Are we there already?” he asked.

“No.” He slammed the door in her face. Effie tittered at his rudeness. She had never experienced such bad manners. She knocked more forcefully on the door this time; some would call it banging.

“What?” He opened the door fully this time, and Effie wished he hadn’t because he was wearing unbuttoned pants and nothing else. It was highly inappropriate.

She said as much, “Perhaps we should have this conversation after you have had a chance to properly attire yourself.”

“We’re both adults, Princess. Let’s just talk now.” He gave a leer that made her squirm.

Effie suppressed the desire to fight him on that, as she had another, more important battle to pick with him. “We will be in the Capitol soon and I need to be sure I can count on you to be sober and present for our tributes.”  She nearly said children, but stopped herself since she didn’t like the way that sounded.

Haymitch laughed. “Are you kidding me? All those parties, schmoozing at the bars, I’ll be drunk before the prep team is finished with them.”

“That is unacceptable. I never…”

He interrupted whatever else she was about to say, “Listen, sweetheart, if you’re going to be the escort for this district, I suggest you get used to it.”

He shut the door in her face again, and Effie could tell by the clanging of bottles he wouldn’t be opening it again.

She stormed away, upset with him for making her job far more difficult than it had to be. Who did he think he was? Just the drunken victor of some little outlying district most people forgot about. She snapped at the tributes to make themselves presentable, they would be in the Capitol in a few hours.

 

* * *

 

At the party where all of the ‘important’ people watched the Parade of Tributes, Haymitch went straight to the bar, hoping to be drunk before they brought out the sheep for the slaughter.

His annoying shadow followed him, yapping, “Must you start with that already? You haven’t even said hello to anyone yet. We need to begin courting sponsors.”

He ordered a drink, instructing the bartender to overfill his glass. “Listen, Yuffie.”

“Effie.”

“You saw those kids on the train. They are sweet, shy children who will be dead in two weeks and there isn’t a damn thing you or I can do about that.” The bartender handed him his drink. He raised his glass to the fuming escort. “So enjoy the drinks, have some good food, and forget about them, as they are dead already.”

“You’re not even going to try?” She grabbed his arm, causing him to spill his drink. He stared at the stain as she continued to talk. “Look at Finnick Odair over there, courting sponsors already. You need to do more, like him.”

Haymitch looked up and sure enough the young Victor was surrounded by women, and he seemed to be more encouraging than in previous years. The man from District Four had won three years ago, the youngest winner ever, and the boy grew more handsome (and more legal) with each passing year. If Haymitch actually worried about winning sponsors, the boy would have caused him great trouble since as great of a woman as Mags was, courting Capitol people wasn’t really her thing. The boy still looked whole, which was an odd thing for victors.

Haymitch wondered what the kid hid under that bright smile of his.

“If only you were as handsome as him,” Effie began fiddling with Haymitch’s collar.

“Leave me be, woman.” He swatted her away.

She stopped touching him, but smiled at one of the other escorts, and before greeting her, Effie hissed, “Try.” Then she was all smiles again, greeting her friend/acquaintance with two air kisses besides the cheeks.

Haymitch took a drink, missing the last escort who had already been broken in, knowing that he’d given up years ago. This new one was like a pair of new shoes, prettier but painful. It didn’t matter, she’d wear down eventually, the amount of death always did it, every escort he had dealt with quit, retired or got transferred after a few years. This determination and cheerfulness would be gone eventually.

“Haymitch!” a booming voice called. Haymitch greeted his friend Chaff with a smile and bear hug. 

Now the party could really start.

 

* * *

 

“Who do you think will win this year, Effie?”

Effie was so excited to be here, in the box suite, watching the parade, mixing with some of the best Panem had to offer, something she had once dreamed of when she watched the Games as a child. She smiled and answered, “I don’t know. I have only had the pleasure seeing my dear tributes so far. But they are certainly full of promise. District 12 may have a winner this year.” She lied.

No one believed her, but they laughed along politely. Effie didn’t even care. She had made it to the big leagues; she was part of the show. She was experiencing a dream come true and nothing would ruin it for her.

The group continued to talk about this year’s tributes. No one had really stood out at the reaping this year, though a few of the careers were intimidating.

“It’s starting,” someone called out. The conversation stopped and everyone looked to the screen and to watch the parade. This year the tributes were being carried out on beds carried by Avoxs. It was quite grand and the announcers commented on how many of the outfits were inspired by the Ancient Roman culture to match their carriages. District One’s were especially fetching, as they were gold and the girl tribute had an elaborate braided updo. 

Effie was disappointed when her tributes came out. They were dressed in unflattering coal miner outfits and looked scared and out of place. The announcers barely commented on them. No one would remember them.  She attempted to look around to see if Haymitch was talking to sponsors like he was supposed to be doing, but she couldn’t find him.

She watched President Snow’s speech, clapping at the end like everyone else, and then going back to talking and champagne. They talked about the tributes and the parade, but eventually moved on to the latest fashions and gossip.

One of the women she was talking to suddenly turned very quiet and her face held a look of disbelief. She pointed, “Effie, isn’t that your mentor?” 

Effie turned, and then the color completely drained from her face. Oh no. What on earth was he doing?

 

* * *

 

Unable and unwilling to take the time to find a bathroom, Haymitch had pried open the balcony doors. Then he went to the edge, balancing on the bars that prevented anyone from falling off.

“What are you up to?” Chaff asked with a laugh.

Haymitch grinned, “I need to make room.” He unzipped his fly and peed off the balcony, uncaring as to what or who may be below. Chaff began belly laughing behind him, the deep sound encouraging Haymitch. 

Then a high screech interrupted him, “What do you think you are doing?”

He nearly lost his balance, which would have made a heck of a mess, but luckily his reflexes were still quick, and so disaster was averted. He looked to his left and after a moment of focusing, he saw his escort, whose face was as red as her wig. She was tapping a high heeled shoe against the marble of the balcony and he laughed at the sight of her angry.  

He could hear Chaff laughing in the background even harder now. He imagined it was quite the sight to see the small, ridiculously dressed woman trying to get him under control. Better people had tried and they had all failed miserably. “Go away and leave me piss in peace,” he told her.

“You are embarrassing me,” she hissed, stepping as close as she dared to avoid the splash zone. “Don’t you realize that your actions reflect badly on all of us? You’re here to represent your district, and you’re doing nothing but shaming them right now.”

“Oh.” He shook out the last few drops. “Here I thought by being a victor, I had already brought honor and glory to my district.” He smiled at her. “Now why don’t you be a pet and fetch me another drink?”

“Fine.” She turned on her heel, heading to the bar.

That surprised him. He assumed she would lecture him about proper etiquette or some such nonsense. Sure enough she returned with a full glass of a clear fluid. He smiled and reached for the glass.

She didn’t give it to him though; instead she kicked his shin with all of her strength, which was more than Haymitch would have guessed. Chaff was laughing again, and he was the only one who noticed this interaction since they had moved to a secluded corner.

Haymitch grabbed his leg, cursing. “Are trying to cripple me?”

She thrust the glass in his face. “Here is some water. If you aren’t going to do anything productive for our tributes, I suggest you drink this glass of water and go to bed.”

He tried to straighten up but it only half-worked. “Listen, sweetheart, I do not take orders from you.”

She forced the water into his hands. “You will or I swear I will schedule every meeting as early as possible from now on and you’ll have to deal with your hangover.”

She walked away as he cursed pointy shoes and drank some of the water. Chaff, merely giggling now, commented, “Quite the little firecracker you have there.” 

“You’re not supposed to take her side.” Haymitch finished the water. “Now let’s move this party to the bar down the street.”

 

* * *

 

Effie was a woman who lived her life on a certain schedule. She got up at the same time every day. She would go through the same motions of showering, applying her makeup and dressing, and then eating breakfast.  Today was no different. She painted on her face and a smile then went to fetch her tributes. She knocked on Haymitch’s door as well, but wasn’t surprised by the lack of response.

She smiled at the tributes and tried to explain about the food and where it was from or how it was made, but they both ignored her, preferring to stuff their faces instead. “Slow down or you’ll get sick. Mind your manners, you two.”

Effie wondered where Haymitch was and after looking at the hall where he should be emerging for the 100th time, she decided to knock on his door again. Just as she got up to do so, she heard a knock at the door. She smiled at the children who jumped at the noise to reassure them. ‘They acted like scared rabbits,’ she thought cynically. They wouldn’t make it.

She wouldn’t allow such morbid thoughts. They had a chance, all of them did. She opened the door to two peacemakers, and between they carried a familiar face.

“Haymitch!”

She pointed to the couch as they dragged him inside. She scolded him immediately, trying to keep her voice down so the tributes wouldn’t hear. “You’re supposed to be setting an example. They should be participating in a grand tradition, following in legendary footsteps, not getting scared by some drunk.”

Haymitch apparently wasn’t passed out because he laughed at her words. “Oh, Princess, you know nothing.”

Effie thanked the peacekeepers and escorted them out. She clapped her hands and sent the children off to training. She knew that their mentor should escort them, but also knew that Haymitch was in no condition to do so. When they were alone, she glared at him. “I’ll fetch you some coffee.”

He accepted it, but as soon as her back was turned, he preceded to “Irish” it up a little with what was left in his flask.

Effie continued to talk, “You’re supposed to be mentoring these kids and helping them to compete and earn honor. 

Haymitch snorted at her and finished with his drink, laid back down and closed his eyes, ignoring the rest of Effie’s speech.

 

* * *

Haymitch didn’t wake up until dinnertime. Even then it was only because Effie poked his shoulder rapidly and repeated his name in that high-pitched accent of hers. He stumbled over to the table, causing the kids to jump at the bang on the table. He went straight for the wine, hoping to starve off the massive hangover he could feel at behind his temples.

Effie led the conversation mostly, while Haymitch, laid his head in his hands willing his body to return to that pleasant buzzed state. He didn’t hear the question the first time, but after a few repeats it got through.

“Do you have any tips for us?” the boy asked.

“Stay alive.” He finished his drink, so he got up to fetch another, switching to whiskey. “I have plenty of tips. What are you looking for?”

“What’s the worst thing that could happen to us in there?” the girl asked. It was the first time she had spoken up since the train.

Haymitch watched the amber liquid in the bottle twirl. “That you’ll die a slow, painful death and no one will even care.”

The children accepted his words with sullen silence, but it enraged Effie. She marched over and hissed at him, “I don’t understand how you can be so angry all the time. We are involved in the most exciting event of the entire year, and you don’t seem to care at all.”

“Well,” his voice went up an octave, “I will be sure to practice my curtsy for the Capitol folks.” He lifted the bottle, knowing he would drink it all tonight anyway.

“In a glass, in a glass, do not drink straight from the bottle.” Effie nagged.

He laughed at her, but obliged, pouring his booze into a crystal glass. It always seemed a waste of time to him, just meant it would need to be cleaned now, but he really could do without her squawking.   


	3. Chapter 3

They watched rankings together. Effie got more and more excited with every score. She was finally a part of the excitement, she was rooting for her tributes naturally, but the girl from District One was very pretty and the boys from District Three and Four both got 11 rankings.

She had enjoyed watching the Hunger Games with her family as a child and she looked around at her new family. Both of the stylists were ancient but still attempted to look young, she kept thinking they were retired (or dead). She realized that District 12 wasn’t just for the new people, but also those on their way out.

The tributes seemed anxious, almost like they didn’t want to be here. Effie didn’t understand them at all. They should feel honored to compete; instead they did nothing but flinch and gorge themselves. It was frustrating to her.

Haymitch, for once, seemed sober, watching the program with an attentiveness she wasn’t used to from him. When the District Three boy’s score was announced, he grumbled, “Got a smart one this year.”

When they got to District 12, the girl had gotten a three and the boy a four. They were dismal scores, but Effie plastered a smile on her face, “Well, the scores aren’t that important anyway. Often times the higher scores die quickly.”

The tributes said nothing, but shifted at Effie’s words. Haymitch actually agreed with her, “She’s right. High scores are targeted, low scores get ignored.” He knew that meant there was no chance of sponsors as well, but he kept that to himself.

Encouraged, Effie decided to take advantage of Haymitch’s soberness, and asked him to advise the tributes. The stylists left, no longer interested in the conversation, but Effie was nearly bouncing in excitement. She felt this is the way it was always supposed to be, the Mentor offering life-saving advice to the young tributes.

Haymitch opened a bottle and said, “All right. You’ll want to find water first, shelter second and food third. Avoid the careers, you’re not going to beat them, and you’re better off not trying. Don’t bother with the Cornucopia either; it only benefits the ones who can hold it. Don’t make any fires, the careers are taught to see them out, so it’s a good way to get killed.”

The tributes listened to every word as though their lives depended on them, nodding along. Effie knew that his advice very well could be good, but it wasn’t like she would have thought. She said, “Honestly, Haymitch, your advice is all about how to avoid the careers. They are not the enemy.”

He looked to the tributes. “If you’re from 12, they are.”

“What about alliances?” the boy asked.

“Alliances can be tricky since they have to break up eventually. Possibly with a literal knife in the back.”

“So you recommend against them?” the girl asked.

“I wouldn’t say either way. It’s nice to have a friend in there.” It’s just hard when you lose them. He didn’t say it out loud but doubled his drinking, trying to get the image of Maysilee Donner from his mind.

Effie picked up on the fact that Haymitch was no longer going to be useful, so she guided the tributes to bed, so that they would be well-rested for another big, big, big day.

 

* * *

 

Haymitch was anxious to get down to the bar and see Chaff, but Effie insisted that they watch the Games together, so he was stuck in the penthouse with her and the stylists. The stylists were clearly sleeping, but Effie didn’t seem to notice, she just arranged the platters again. Haymitch didn’t touch any of the food, sticking to the drinks. He sat in a chair, draping himself over it in the most undignified way possible. He did it mostly to get a scowl from the Escort, and he wasn’t disappointed.

Part of him wondered just what she would do if he just left, but he didn’t seriously consider leaving. He figured it was harmless enough to wait around here for a while anyway. Most tributes from his district didn’t make it past the first few hours of the Game. He saw little reason it would be different this year.

Effie smiled when the pre-show started. “It’s this exciting? It’s so much better when you’re actually involved with them, isn’t it?”

“Oh yes,” Haymitch took a drink. “It’s even better when you’re actually in the games and you get to feel the knives cutting you, such a realistic experience.”

Effie ducked her head, silenced.

Haymitch figured it served her right. How dare she say such things? He had little to no tolerance for Capitol nonsense and that’s all this girl seemed to know.

She didn’t speak again until the games actually started, squeaking when she saw the arena. “Oh it’s so pretty.”

Haymitch studied the arena as well, he knew from experience that pretty usually meant deadly. The arena this year reminded him of his own arena, with a mountain in the background and in field surrounded by trees. He got up; he would need more liquor to get through this.

The countdown sounded in the background, and he closed his eyes for a moment, hearing the gong and being transported back to the time when he ran off the platform.

It was Effie that broke him out of it. “I thought you told them to avoid the Cornucopia.” 

He turned back to watch the screen again. “I did.”

It appeared that the girl had ignored his advice. “So why is she running toward it?”

“She panicked because she’s a little girl who’s scared to die.” Haymitch remembered how tempting it is. First, you’re dizzy and overwhelmed by the environment around you. But then you see it. All you could need, lying before you. There’s a long countdown and you’re just staring at it, thinking about how you could use this or that. “The gamemakers know how tempting it is for them, that’s why it’s in almost every one.” He added more ice to his drink before sitting again.

The girl is killed. Effie shrieked, waking the stylists for a moment. They looked around, as if forgetting where they were, but went back to sleep almost immediately.

“That’s one down.” He mock toasted to dead tribute.

“Oh.” Effie looked downcast for a moment, but brightened quickly. “Well, the boy did run pretty fast. Did you see that? Maybe he will make it.”

Haymitch said nothing, just drank. How in the hell could she be so positive?

 

* * *

 

It was day two of the Games, and the boy for District 12 was still alive, but both tributes from 11 were dead. Haymitch had snuck out of the penthouse, avoiding Effie to share a drink with Chaff to toast the dearly departed. As always, one drink had turned into ten, and now he wouldn’t be able to return if he wanted to.  “She’s driving me nuts, man. This new escort, always trying to see the positive, never giving in to the inevitable, insisting we spend time together. None of the others were like this.” 

“You poor man.” Chaff said in his booming voice, taking a drink. “At least she’s pretty, much better than the old bat you had before. Nice tight ass in a nice tight skirt, I’m not sure why you’re complaining.”

Haymitch said nothing to that. He’d noticed that Effie was not unattractive, and it would be ridiculous to argue otherwise. He mumbled, “I just wish she’d leave me alone.”

As if the wish had been overheard, Effie came storming into the bar at that moment. “There you are, Haymitch. Shouldn’t you be in the sponsors’ room? If you haven’t noticed, our boy is having some trouble finding water.”

“Well, I’ve had no trouble finding the whiskey.”

She ran over to him or as close to running as one could get in such high heels. “I found a sponsor for him, but I need you to close the deal.” She began to tug on his arm, trying to drag him up.

“You actually found a sponsor for him?” Haymitch couldn’t believe it. It had been years since anyone had even shown interest in sponsoring someone from 12. He wondered what she did to change that tide.

Now that he was up and she was standing close enough to him, Effie could smell the alcohol. “Oh, you smell terrible. Stay here and I’ll go get something.” She scampered away.

Haymitch turned to Chaff, “See. She’s very annoying.”

Chaff shrugged. “I watched her running away in those heels, and I still think you’re overreacting.”

The bartender brought over some coffee for Haymitch. He barely took a sip, when Effie was back with a bottle of cologne. She began spraying around his face, Haymitch cried out, “Stop that. You’re getting it in my mouth.”

She sniffed around him. “It’s a little better.” She shoved some mints into his mouth and then dragged him away, as he finished the coffee as quickly as he could, placing the cup on the bar on his way out.

Alone in the elevator making their way up to the sponsors’ room, Effie gave her last instructions, “You will go try, Haymitch.” She said firmly. “You will try to save that boy’s life.”

Haymitch, sobered up a little now, realized that she was right. He pushed out the memories from his early years as a mentor when he had really tried, before it grew to be too much and all the time alone in the Victor’s Village caught up with him, making him realize just how alone he was.

How alone he would always be now.

But he would try and then try not to mind when he inevitably failed.

 

* * *

 

The sponsor she had lined up turned out to be an older man. Before coming up here, Haymitch had assumed Effie had somehow used her looks and a possible promise of sleeping together to get someone to talk to her.

Within a few minutes though, Haymitch realized this man’s interest wasn’t in Effie. He continuously talked about the Seam boy’s pretty eyes. Haymitch struggled not to throw up on this man’s pretty suit and part of him would have done it gladly.

But he didn’t want to deal with the fallout from Effie.

Finally the older man said, “Send the boy some bread.” 

“Actually, I get to decide what he needs.” Haymitch reminded him.

With a firmer tone, the man repeated, “Send the boy some bread.”

Haymitch understood the man’s attentions all too well. He also knew that if the boy somehow made it through what the Capitol would do.

This was why he hated courting sponsors; they reminded him that there were worse things than a career’s spear through the chest.

Back in the penthouse, Effie was happy to see the bread, as was the boy, and nearly hugged Haymitch until the look he gave her stopped her cold.

 

* * *

 

The earthquake was what ultimately killed their last tribute. The boy had been trapped under some rocks. As he was still alive, Effie tugged on Haymitch’s sleeve. “Do you think that the sponsor would send him something? Could he still live?” 

Haymitch thought that the man might, but refused to indebt the boy like that, so he answered, “No. There’s nothing we can do.”

Effie looked very distressed by this news and watched until a few hours after, the cannon sounded, as the boy’s heart beat had stopped.

Haymitch barely reacted, but Effie let out a gasp. It didn’t take long for her to recover though, “We’ll just have to try harder next year.”

“That’ll work,” Haymitch grumbled under his breath.

Effie ignored him, “Well, I’ll call the family.” She got up, but Haymitch stopped her.

“They won’t have a phone.”

“Oh. Well, I guess we’ll do it in person then when we deliver the coffins.”

“What are you talking about? There is no we. You don’t say anything to the families because there is nothing to say.”

“Don’t be silly. We’ll let them know they died honorably in the Games and…”

“They won’t care. They won’t want to hear it. You won’t be comforting them. They won’t love you for it. They’ll hate you, you stupid Capitol bitch.”

She yelled now, “It’s my job. I have to say something.”

“It’s not your job, Effie. None of the other escorts ever came back with the coffins. It won’t matter anyway.”

Effie recognized that Haymitch had gotten her name right, but she ignored that, simply saying, “It matters to me.” 

Haymitch said nothing. He knew she wouldn’t be welcome, but he found himself admiring her for making the effort. No one else did, not even him.

 

* * *

 

As predicted, both of the families reacted badly to Effie’s words. One slammed the door shut in her face and the other spit at her feet before slamming the door shut. 

Effie wasn’t one to be put out though, and she acted as if it had all gone very well. Haymitch had refused to go with her to deliver the coffins, but did see her off at the station.

She was smiling again, “At least we’ll go to the Victor’s Ball.”

“What?”

“At the President’s house. All the past victors are invited; I figured I could be your date. Besides it’s a great opportunity to court more sponsors for next year and thank our previous one.”

Haymitch would say nothing to that man though he might throw up on him if he saw him again. He knew what reaction that would bring so he talked about Effie’s previous comment instead. “That’s awfully presumptuous of you.”

“Did you have plans to invite someone else?” She actually seemed surprised and maybe a little hurt.

Actually he never went; the entire event pissed him off. “I’m not going.”

“You have to.” She looked at him. “Of course we’ll need to go shopping first.”

Who was this woman? “What?”

She noticed his sour look, so she explained, “We should coordinate; present a united front, being from the same district. I was thinking we could both dress in black, being from the coal district and all. I’ve already ordered my hair.”

“You aren’t from District 12. I will not be going shopping with you or to the Victor’s ball.”

She ignored him, pressing something into his hand. “I already got you special permission to come a day early to the Capitol so we could pick out your clothes.” She looked at his current outfit again. “We’ll also pick up something for you to wear for next year’s games.”

Haymitch clenched the ticket, seriously who was this woman? “I’m not going. Effie, are you listening to me? I will not be going shopping or to the ball.”

She patted his checks as though he were a child. “I’ll see you in a few months, Haymitch.”

She went to board the train and he called out after her. “No you will not. We will see each other at the next reaping and no sooner.”

A few months later, Haymitch found himself in the Capitol, shopping.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

Nothing had gone how Effie had planned, which was why she was so determined to drag Haymitch to this ball. It was the biggest event of the social season, and she would be there. She wanted to get something out of all of this…misery.

She called into the dressing room, “Haymitch, are you finished yet?”

He swore and there was a bang in the dressing room. Effie rushed over though witnesses might claim it was more of a scuttle since her heels didn’t allow much more. She cried out, “Are you okay, Haymitch?”

He peaked out from behind the curtain, “Please tell me you don’t have more clothes.”

Effie nodded, holding out her selections. Haymitch drew out a pair of maroon skinny pants. “I’m not wearing these.”

Effie stomped her foot in frustration, he had been doing this all afternoon, rejecting any clothing item that was even the slightest bit interesting. “Can’t you wear something even a little bit fashionable?”

“We’ve been over this. I like simple and boring.”

Effie remembered how much his previous clothes stunk of booze and filth and thought to herself, ‘I’d settle for clean.’ It was too rude to say out loud so she said, “Well, come out. Let me get a look at you.”

Several dirty comments jumped to Haymitch’s tongue, but he couldn’t the pick the best in a timely manner so he went back behind the curtain to finish buttoning his shirt. Looking at himself in the mirror, he had to admit that Effie actually did do a good job, at least after he’d rejected her outrageous choices. He stepped out.

Effie smiled at the sight of him. While still an unkempt drunk, he looked presentable when properly dressed. She tugged a bit on his waistcoat and shifted his coat a little. He squirmed under her touch.

That was the moment the saleslady came by. “How are we doing over here?”

“Very well,” Effie smiled back.

“Doesn’t your husband look dashing in that suit?”

“Husband?” Haymitch repeated. “There isn’t enough booze in the world for that.” The embarrassed saleslady apologized, but Effie reassured her with a laugh.

Effie turned back to Haymitch’s image in the mirror. “We’ll take the suit and that pile of clothes over there.” She pointed to the clothes Haymitch had deemed not half bad. She thought of what he’d been wearing when he’d stepped on the train when she picked him earlier and added, “He’ll wear this out.”

The saleslady noticed how big the pile was and became very happy to oblige, grabbing as many of the clothes she could carry to the register. She would need to make two trips. Haymitch had brightened at Effie’s instructions. “We’re done shopping?”

“Yes,” Effie confirmed. She looked at her watch. “If we don’t leave now we’ll be late for our spa appointment.”

“What?” Haymitch growled.

“Well, you could use a facial, some grooming and definitely a haircut and I’ve had such a stressful day.”

“Hell no, Effie.” The saleslady grabbed the rest of the clothes behind him, running quickly, terrified the fight would affect her commission. “I’m not going to a spa. I’m going to my hotel bar and I’m getting drunk.”

Effie frowned, “That was not what I planned, Haymitch.”

Before she could continue, the saleslady interrupted to get the sales tags from Haymitch’s suit. He handed them over, and then he saw the prices. He said in a quiet, deadly voice, “Did you know that this shirt could feed an entire family in the Seam for a year?”

It was a voice that made Effie wish he was still yelling profanities. She ignored it, like she did with most unpleasant things. “What does the cost matter? You’re a victor after all.”

She smiled. He said nothing, walking out on her. Effie fetched Haymitch’s wallet from the soiled pants he’d came with and apologized for her companion’s behavior to the saleslady. “He is quite rude,” the saleslady agreed.

“Oh, but he’s also a victor.” The saleslady didn’t look like she believed Effie. So Effie tried to remind her, “He won the Quarter Quell. He’s from District 12?” Nothing registered, so Effie mentioned an event from the tapes of previous reapings she’d studied in preparation for her assignment to 12, one she had attempted to block out. “He was the victor who got in the fight with the escort a couple of years ago during the reaping.”

A spark of recognition passed on the other woman’s face. “Oh yes, we all laughed so hard when he burped…”

She continued to talk about that game and what her and her friends were doing, but Effie just remembered that reaping. The woman who had acted as escort before Effie had clearly been scolding Haymitch about bringing a bottle of alcohol on stage. At one point he yelled back, “Or what? What are you and your precious Capitol going to do to me? You’ve already made an example of me. So sit down, shut up and let me drink myself to death in peace.” He then let out a massive burp.

The ruffled escort had sat down after that and the footage had cut away at that point, but Effie had always wondered what Haymitch meant when he said he’d been made an example of. He, a bitter, dirty drunk, was certainly a poor example of anything in her opinion.

The saleslady interrupted Effie’s thoughts, asking her for her card. Effie handed over what Haymitch had in his wallet. When the transaction was completed, Effie gathered up all the bags and left the store with smiles and thank yous.

It still gnawed at her though. What had Haymitch meant?

 

* * *

Haymitch was alone at the bar. It wasn’t that surprising, as it was too early in the afternoon for a causal or social drinker. The heavy drinkers in the Capitol probably had their own bars that weren’t in hotels. The lack of company suited Haymitch just fine though. He knew this was the hotel where most of the Victors stayed at when they had to come to the Capitol, and wondered who would all appear tomorrow night. He was hoping for Chaff, but wasn’t sure if he would be there. The man liked a good party, but he also liked his alone time.

He pulled out of his thoughts when he heard the sound of heels coming toward him. He knew it could only be Effie. He turned to face her. She looked less pissed than he thought she was going to be. “What are you doing here?”

“I had your bags dropped off.” She glared at the glass in his hand. “I also thought you would need this.” She slapped his wallet down on the bar. “I didn’t think you would be able to get a drink without it.”

He shrugged. “They just put it on the room bill.”

She seemed uncomfortable, not wanting to leave, but not wanting to stay. Haymitch pulled out the stool next to him and she took it.

After a while, she asked, “Do you remember the reaping about two years ago when you told off your former escort?”

He sucked in some air after finishing his drink. “Yeah. What about it?”

Effie fiddled with the napkin in front of her, folding and unfolding it. “What did you mean by they made an example of you?”

Whatever he had been expecting that had not been it. Her words affected him like a freight training hitting him at full speed. When he regained his balance, he called over the bartender. “You should have a drink, Effie.”

Effie huffed, “I don’t want a drink. We’re supposed to be at the spa right now, you know.”

Haymitch ordered them both a scotch on the rocks. “I was never going to the spa. You had to know that.” She looked so put out that Haymitch threw her a bone, “Look, I went shopping with you. I tried on clothes for you. I’m here. It’s better than anyone else would have been able to do, Effie.”

Their drinks arrived. Haymitch had figured that Effie was a fruity drink kind of girl who would refuse the scotch, conveniently leaving him a second one. But she surprised him, taking a long drink of it. “You never answered my question.”

He took his own drink. “I’ll need at least a bottle in me before I can do that conversation. So sit and drink with me.”

She did.

He nodded at her drink. “Never pegged you for a scotch drinker.”

Effie was rolling the dark liquid in her glass, watching the ice shift. “My father drank scotch. He used to give me sips of it when I was a little girl.” She took another long drink.

They fell back into a silence. It was a strange experience for both of them, they had gotten used to bickering and words always came easily to them when they argued. The silence continued until they refilled their drinks. Haymitch silently asked if she wanted another and she slid her glass to him nodding.

Effie broke it, “Is this your first time in the Capitol? I mean besides the games obviously.” She didn’t wait for him to answer. “I could have given you a tour, I guess. There’s this delightful little shop that sells…”

And off she went. Haymitch tuned her out, focusing on his drinking instead. He had finished a bottle when she said something that broke through and he interrupted her, “Do you even listen to your own prattling?”

She blinked, unsure of what he meant, “What do you mean? I certainly never…”

Before she could take off again, Haymitch said, “Shut up, Effie.”

“Why do you say that? To me? To the woman who came before me?”

So she was back on this. “Why do you care?”

“How can you not? You’re part of the most wondrous event…”

“I’m going to stop you right there. There’s nothing wonderful about children in an all-out death match.”

Effie bit her tongue for a while, but after a few more drinks she couldn’t help herself, “My father loved the games you know. We always used to watch them as a family. He used to work so much that I hardly ever got to see him, except when the games came around and President Snow didn’t need him.”

That did interest Haymitch. Effie’s father worked for Snow? “What does your father do for Snow?”

“Oh,” Effie looked flustered, like she hadn’t meant to say that out loud, “My father died a few years ago, but he used to be in charge of District Relations.”

This was all very interesting to Haymitch. “Really? And how did he die?”

Effie’s eyes took a sad turn, “There was a train accident.” Haymitch wondered if it had been an accident, being close to Snow and the districts sounded like a job with a low life expectancy to him. Effie snapped out of her sad state quickly though, “What about your parents, Haymitch?”

He sighed, bored again, “What about them?”

“What did they do?” She knew from her research that they had both passed away when he was younger.

“Dad died in a mining accident.” He took a drink. He wouldn’t talk about his mother, not with this woman.

“And your mother?” She pressed.

“None of your damn business, Effie.” He shook his head at her inability to pick up on his moods. “Why are you here, Effie? We’re not friends, and we never will be. Just leave me the hell alone.”

Haymitch then learned something about Effie that he really should have guessed earlier. She was an emotional drunk. She burst into tears at his words, throwing her head and arms on the bar. Unsure of what to do, Haymitch stood behind her and awkwardly patted her back.

Suddenly she popped her head up, “Do you hate me?”

He looked down at her; the crying had made her face a mess. He knew what she needed to hear and obliged, “No, I don’t hate you.”

She smiled and brought him in closer to her, hugging him and laying her head against his shoulder, comforted by his cool lie.

What confused Haymitch was that didn’t feel like a lie.

 

* * *

 

Effie did not want to see Haymitch. She had too many drinks the night before and he had put her in a cab to send her home. It had been embarrassing and unprofessional. She wanted to crawl up into a ball and stay that way forever, but she knew that wouldn’t be possible. She refused to miss this chance to go to the Victor’s Ball and to do that she needed Haymitch.

So she put on her new dress and fixed her makeup and hair. She showed up at Haymitch’s hotel a half an hour early, knowing she’d need at least that amount of time to make sure he was awake and dressed.

She knocked and after he didn’t answer, she opened the unlocked door. She didn’t find him anywhere in the room. She wondered where he could be.

Effie wandered the halls, roaming the building, looking for Haymitch. She went to the bar first, figuring that that was her best bet for finding him. She wasn’t disappointed. He was nursing some white liquor. From a distance, he looked good enough, almost handsome. She hoped he hadn’t already reacquired his usual smell.

He must have heard her approach because before she could say something he mumbled, “What do you want, Effie?”

“I want to go to the Victor’s Ball. I’m shocked you aren’t drunk yet and you’re ready to go.”

“You’re early.” He turned to face her. “I’m shocked you’re ready to go considering the state you were in last night.” Effie blushed. Haymitch laughed, “Don’t look so embarrassed. It’s nice to know you’re human.” He gestured to the stool next to him. “Have a drink and keep me company.”

The memory of the previous night still stung, so Effie refused, “There will be plenty of that at the ball.”

Haymitch grinned as he slammed down the rest of his drink. “You finally understand how to motivate me.”

 

* * *

 

Ten minutes and Haymitch already wanted to leave. He’d found the bar within seconds and was already on drink number three. He didn’t want to remember this night. 

Haymitch was glad it took time to get completely drunk when he spotted a familiar face. “Mags,” he smiled as the old woman made her way to him.

Haymitch always smiled when he saw Mags. The old woman had always held a special place in Haymitch’s heart. The District 12 Victor had died a couple years prior to the second Quarter Quell, and Mags had volunteered to mentor the 12 tributes until a replacement came along since there were three other victors from District Four at the time.

Officially, the Victor had died in his sleep; unofficially, he’d hung himself, unable to cope with nearly thirty years of dead children. In a way, he had been able to mentor Haymitch in that way, it’s just Haymitch chose to drink himself to death rather than taking a more direct route.

“What are you doing here, Haymitch? You never come to these things.” Mags asked in her thick accent.

“New escort. She’s annoying and I hope this will get her off my back for next year.”

“Or it will just set a precedent and now you’ll be here every year.”

“Not happening. She’ll learn, Mags.”

“Seems to me that you’re the one who’s learning.”

Haymitch went quiet, but Mags continued, “This is escort number six for you?”

“Seven, actually. They never want to stick around long.”

“Can’t imagine why not. You’re such a bundle of joy.” She gave him a toothless grin and for the first time in a long time, Haymitch felt his heart warm. Mags was a hell of a woman.

That was the moment Finnick came over. He stole the drink from Haymitch and downed it in one gulp. If it wasn’t for the hug Mags immediately gave him, Haymitch would have punched the pretty boy for that. Mags whispered something in Finnick’s ear. Finnick smiled sheepishly, and then with a wave of his hand got an Avox to bring Haymitch a new one. “Sorry about that.”

Haymitch looked at the new drink in his hand as though it appeared by magic, “That’s handy.”

“Being ridiculously handsome has its advantages.” Haymitch’s desire to punch the kid had returned. A Capitol woman interrupted them. Finnick grumbled, “And its disadvantages.”

“There you are, Finnick.” She waved a finger at him the way one would do to a child. “If I didn’t know better I would have said you ran off on me.”

Finnick was grinning again. “I wouldn’t dream of it. Shall we?” He began to escort her to the dance floor before leaning over to Mags, “We’re going home tomorrow, right?”

Mags nodded. Finnick looked relieved, but his smile had slipped back into place almost too easily.

Haymitch had to ask. “Is he really the womanizer they say he is?”

“No, not by nature, but then most of us aren’t killers by nature either.”

“Or the games just bring it out. None of us are winners by accident. Luck maybe, but not accident.”

Haymitch took a deep drink. Mags was looking at Finnick, “He won at such a young age. He’s barely even legal. I worry about him.”

Haymitch watched the laughing and dancing young man. “I think he’ll be fine.”

“The Capitol has almost no leverage on him right now. I mean, the boy loves me like a mother, but he has no real family, doesn’t have a girl back home.”

Haymitch’s jaw clenched, remembering his own girl back home. “Surprising.”

Mags’ eyes held more sadness than her tone alone could convey, “I almost hope he never does find one. It may be better for him.”

Haymitch had no argument to that.

 

* * *

 

Effie was having the time of her life. All of the best food, so many important people, and the list went on. It was in this giddy state she found Haymitch, taking a break from dancing. “Haymitch,” she called out. 

He seemed inclined to ignore her, but she was in no mood to be ignored and wrapped her arms around him in a hug. He didn’t smell too bad in his new clothes.

Haymitch jumped from her as though her touch had burned him.

Effie didn’t seem to notice. “Isn’t this just the most magical evening?”

“Oh yes,” Haymitch’s words dripped with sarcasm as he ordered another drink.

Again, Effie didn’t pick up on his mood. She took his drink from him, setting on the bar. “Dance with me.”

“No,” Haymitch growled, reaching for his drink.

Effie kept it out of his grasp. “No. You drink too much anyway.”

“Effie,” Haymitch growled again.

Effie giggled, still playing keep away. But then Haymitch grabbed her wrist, tightly and violently.

“Effie, I am here. I am wearing your ridiculous clothes. But you will not interrupt my drinking. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

Her eyes filled with tears. “You’re hurting me.”

“Effie, tell me you understand.”

The grip on her wrist tightened and she nodded. He let go, glared at something over her shoulder and left.

She looked at where he’d been glaring and only saw the empty balcony where President Snow had given his address moments before. She wondered what had put the victor in such a sour mood so quickly.

 

* * *

 

Haymitch was officially drunk. He’d been keeping it together, somewhat, until Snow made his entrance with the new victor, who was nearly shaking. 

And to think, this year’s victor was a career, but then even though career districts got some privileges they were still just districts. Haymitch finished another drink.

A man approached him. He smiled and introduced himself. “Plutarch Heavensbee. You’re Haymitch Abernathy, right?”

Haymitch greeted him back with a belch. “Yep.” He staggered back to the bar. The Capitol man followed him.

“I remember your games. Using the force field as a weapon, very clever.” This Plutarch was still grinning.

The last thing Haymitch wanted to deal with was a fan. Besides, he still wasn’t sure his cleverness had been worth it. He attempted to ignore the man, and the memories he was stirring up, as he ordered a new drink.

The man didn’t get the hint, leaning on the bar next to him. “I also remember when they did the family interviews. You had a mother and brother, right?”

Haymitch suppressed the violet urge that flared up at this Capitol man mentioning his family. “What do you want?” He finally faced the other man.

Plutarch held up his hands. “Just to talk.”

“So, talk.” Haymitch turned back to the bar.

Plutarch lowered his voice. “Not here.” He handed Haymitch a card. “Let me know when you’re available.”

“I’m a very busy man, not sure if I’ll be able to fit you in between my heavy drinking schedule.”

“You may want to make the time,” Plutarch was back to smiling, “It was a pleasure meeting you, Mr. Abernathy.” With that, he left him alone, finally.

Since when did people decide to start using his formal name? Haymitch didn’t like it. Part of him wanted to throw away the card on principle, but he figured what the hell, maybe he could get drunk one night and finally have someone to prank call. His drink was ready and he was back to drinking again.

He should find out what Effie’s number was too.


	5. Chapter 5

The boxes arrived a week before the Reaping for the 69th Hunger Games. The knocks on the door and moving them in hadn’t woken Haymitch from his drunken sleep, so they were a surprise when he woke up. He guessed he should open them and see what the woman had picked, but really had no desire to expel that much energy. He noticed an envelope attached to one of the boxes and grabbed it on his way to the kitchen for a new bottle to battle his current hangover.

He opened a new bottle and had downed half of it before looking at the letter again. It was fancy handwriting in what looked like gold ink. The casual excess disgusted Haymitch enough that he didn’t open it until he’d finished his bottle.

He read:

“Haymitch –

It was a pleasure working with you last year.” A bold-faced lie, Haymitch knew. “This year I have some ideas on how we can really pop. Maybe gain a few more sponsors for the tributes?” Haymitch was already feeling exhausted by this woman and the Reaping wasn’t even here yet.

The letter continued: “I picked out several outfits for you. I know your rules, but there were so many new men’s fashions this season that I couldn’t resist…”

Haymitch read no more running over to the boxes and ripping the first one open. He picked up the first outfit.

Dear God, what had Effie done?

 

* * *

 

Effie exited the train for her second Hunger Games. She was more prepared this time, but the looks of hatred and the poverty were easy to forget after living in the Capitol for a year. She was in her best blue suit with a matching a wig and she really hoped that Haymitch read her note and would be wearing the matching outfit she had got him. It would make them look better on television and perhaps attract the eye of a sponsor. After all, who knew what the kids would be like?

Tributes. Who knew what the tributes would be like.

Her heels kicked up dirt behind her as she made her way to the Victors’ Village. She would be taking no chances with Haymitch this year. She would make sure he was wearing the outfit she had gotten him and be ready to go when they went on air in an hour or so. When she saw his home, it always made her sad to see how alone he lived. She pushed the thought aside and went to knock on his door.

She knocked repeatedly. Eventually she gave up and ignoring all the lessons of rudeness her mother had given her, she entered Haymitch’s house uninvited. The stench was as bad as ever and she quickly brought a gloved hand to cover her nostrils. She called out, “Haymitch? Haymtich, are you decent? Are you ready?”

She carefully avoided the destroyed boxes in the doorway and made her way through the many empty bottles littering the floor. When she had searched all of the rooms downstairs, she made her way upstairs.

She found him in his room, passed out, and much to her embarrassment, naked. She looked away as soon as she saw it, her prudishness winning out. She knew she would have to wake him up and get him dressed, but she really didn’t have a lot of experience with naked men.

That wasn’t to say she didn’t have an active social life in the Capitol, but men never stayed over and were rarely naked for long, usually wanting to show off a new silk robe or some such. This was different and all of the blood in her face was causing her brain to sputter in ideas as to how wake him.

Finally she decided that the direct approach would be best and she walked in, averting her gaze as much as she could. She poked him quickly, calling his name. He didn’t stir. She continued poking and calling for him, but it soon became clear that it wouldn’t work in waking him. She looked around the room and saw nothing useful, but she did spot a blanket, which she threw on his lower half.

This made him sink deeper into the bed, and she noticed for the first time that the bottle she thought he had been gripping was in fact a knife. She tried to pry it out of his hand for her safety as much as his, but she had no luck. She was close to him now, bent over him, and she decided to try another method. She whispered in his ear as she gently shook him, “Haymitch, wake up.”

He was moving now and she knew she would be able to wake him up if she kept at it. She combed her fingers through his hair, hoping her gentle method would mean he wouldn’t use his knife. She kept one hand on that arm just in case she would be forced to defend herself.

Haymitch surprised her. He rolled over and kissed her. What surprised her even more was that she didn’t jump away and squeal like last year, she let herself be kissed for a moment.

Who would have guessed he wasn’t actually half bad at kissing?

She broke it after a moment though and his eyes opened, blinking a few times before he fully woke up. Effie had forgotten why she had come here, her eyes darting for an exit. Haymitch sat up, still not fully awake. He looked at the blanket on him as though he doubted its existence. He tightened his grip on his knife.

Effie took the opportunity to sneak out, forgetting to remind him about his outfit and to be at the Reaping.

 

* * *

 

That was a strange dream, Haymitch thought. Most of his dreams were really nightmares where he was back in the arena. Effie climbing in bed with him and him kissing her was not standard fare. He shook his head, it was Reaping day and the Escort had naturally been on his mind since she sent his new outfits.

New, fashionable outfits he had no intention of wearing. He looked around for a bottle, but couldn’t find anything but empties. He threw on some dirty pants and a shirt, and made his way his way to the mayor’s house.

The mayor was clearly surprised that he had arrived on time. Haymitch understood why. He hated coming here, didn’t want to risk the possibility of running into his wife, remembering her sister.

He found Effie instead. She was tittering more than usual and seemed determined not to meet his gaze. He wondered at this, his dream had been a realistic one, but it had been a dream. Right?

They stood in awkward silence in a few moments, but Effie couldn’t stand it and began to talk about the architecture of the house they were in, pointing out some of the techniques the builders had used. Haymitch was sure that most of what she was saying wasn’t true and began to rub his head.

Without the haze of alcohol, he had no patience for the escort’s nonsense. He interrupted her, “Effie, shut up.”

Shockingly, she listened and sweet silence engulfed the room until the mayor entered. His daughter was hiding behind his leg, as though Effie would be snatching her up for the Games here.  Haymitch wondered how many years the girl had left before her name went in the bowl.

The mayor greeted them, “It’s time.”

Effie plastered a smile on until she actually saw what Haymitch was wearing. “That is not what I told you to wear.”

“I’m not wearing the crap you sent.”

She clearly had more to say about the topic, but Haymitch left before she could get any words out, taking his assigned seat. She sat next to him, looking upset, but saying nothing as the mayor began the Reaping.

The Reaping went as usual. It only took Effie a year to become of professional at this. Haymitch’s fingers itched for a bottle.

The chosen kids this year were malnourished and little for their ages, which appeared to be about 14 for the girl and 15 for the boy. They took their hour to say goodbye to their parents. Haymitch didn’t wait for them, instead he went to the train, planting himself in the bar car.

It didn’t take long for Effie to find him. “You look terrible.” She sniffed the air. “You smell terrible as well. Why couldn’t you wear the clothes I sent?”

“I told you my rules.”

“But they wouldn’t be very fashionable…”

Haymitch grabbed a bottle and headed for his room, leaving an enraged Effie in his wake. She yelled after him, “I insist you wear that green outfit tomorrow, Haymitch.”

Haymitch didn’t respond.

 

* * *

The next morning Effie was trying to speak with the children, who were far more interested in the food. They favored the pancakes; she made a note to order more next year. Perhaps those tributes would like them as well.

Effie continued to look to the door, eager to see how Haymitch would look when he wore something resembling real clothes. She had purchased him a green waist coat with tan puffy pants, hardly the most fashionable items, but she figured they remained within the rules the Mentor had set for her.

When he did enter she nearly choked, before screeching, “What are you wearing?”

Haymitch gave her a grin. “Why nothing, princess. Is something wrong with your eyes?” He came up close as if to examine them.

She swatted him away while also trying to cover him up from the children’s eyes. They seemed both shocked, but completely unsure what to do. Effie dismissed them. They couldn’t leave fast enough.

Effie then turned to Haymitch, who was now siting and eating a muffin. “Haymitch, what are you doing?"

“I’m eating. What is it with you and the obvious questions?” He took a big bite from a muffin.

Part of Effie was grateful that he was eating rather than drinking like usual, and noted the kind of muffin he was eating. She would be sure they were stocked next year for him. “Why aren’t you wearing the clothes I sent you?”

“Well, you see, princess,” he crossed his legs and Effie averted her eyes, “I don’t much care for puffy pants. I would really prefer no pants.”

“It’s completely inappropriate. Think of the children, think of the cameras, think of what people will say, Haymitch.”

“Well, I’m an embarrassment in my rags and I’m inappropriate in nothing according to you. I think this is all fine.” He took another big bite. “So as I see it, this is your problem.”

Effie wanted to slap him. Instead she stormed away and went to the communications car. She made a few phone calls so that Haymitch would have some clothes for the Games.

She would never buy him puffy pants again.

 

* * *

 

Haymitch dreamed of dead children. He dreamed of blood. He dreamed he was drowning in it. 

And he had forgotten how to swim.

 

* * *

 

The girl had been the one to knock on Effie’s door. “Miss Trinket?”

Effie looked at the time and threw on a robe and a wig; she didn’t have time to apply makeup though. She was pleased that the girl showed some matters by using her proper name, but was less pleased at the hour she was being called on. She opened the door only slightly, hoping the dim light would cover her uncovered face, “Yes?”

The girl looked scared, after biting her lip, she said, “Mr. Haymitch…I can’t sleep and neither can Cole.”

That was when Effie heard him, yelling in his sleep. The noises didn’t seem to be coming from his room either. Effie normally slept with a mask and earplugs, which is why she didn’t hear him earlier. She put on a smile for the girl. “I understand. I will take care of it.” She waved a hand. “Now back to bed for you, we have a big big big day tomorrow.”

The girl seemed reluctant, but left. Effie closed her door and went to put on a proper face. She grumbled to herself about Haymitch’s manners and what a drunk he was, not even able to get to his sleeping car. She had half a mind to wake him up and chew him out. Frightening the children, tributes, was no way for a mentor to act.

When she looked presentable, Effie went to the source of the screaming. When she saw Haymitch, her hard face immediately softened.

He was thrashing around, looking like a scared boy, fighting for his life. Careful of his bottle, which he was clutching and using like he would a knife, Effie kneeled next to him.

Effie Trinket wasn’t the most maternal of people, she was too involved in herself for that, but she ran her fingers through Haymitch’s hair and made some soothing noises until he calmed down into an uneasy, but quiet sleep.

She tried to pry his bottle from his hands, but realized the effort would be futile after a few moments. She removed his shoes, put his entire body on the couch and threw a blanket over him.

It would become a habit of hers moving forward, taking care of Haymitch when he slept. She always told herself she did it for the children, tributes.

 

* * *

Haymitch wasn’t too surprised to wake up on the couch. He was surprised to find that his shoes were off and he had a blanket draped over him. He rarely made such an effort.

He never knew who did this, but he always suspected her whenever he woke up.

The group had an uneventful breakfast, no one wanting to make conversation. Effie made a few half-hearted attempts, but faded out quickly enough.

After she sent the tributes off to prepare for their presentation at the Capitol, she turned to Haymitch.

He didn’t like the look in her eyes.

She put a medicine bottle in front of him. “What’s this?”  He asked, already supsecting.

“Sleeping pills. Your screaming woke the tributes last night.” An awkward silence settled between them.

“Do you want to talk about it? I find that sometimes helps when I have bad dreams.”

“It’s none of your damn business.” He threw her pills back at her, grabbing a bottle on his way out.

 


	6. Chapter 6

Effie was struggling not to cry out on the platform. She knew she had a job to do and knew it was imperative that she keep a smile on her face for the cameras, but it hurt when he threw those pills back at her. She was just trying to help. Why wouldn’t he let her? 

Still, she kept a hand on each tributes shoulder and prayed the blinding cameras didn’t catch any tears.

She ignored any hurt feelings, deciding to focus all of her energy on her tributes. She reminded both of them to smile, but neither of them could manage a good one.

They looked scared.

No one bet on the scared looking children.

Frustrated, Effie looked out into the crowd. Most of the people looked bored except one, Plutarch Heavensbee was staring at Haymitch. Despite her feelings, Effie leaned over and poked Haymitch to get his attention. He’d been searching for a flask. “Do you know Plutarch Heavensbee?”

“What?” It took Haymitch moments to find Capitol man in the crowd. “No,” he growled.

Effie deflated, “Too bad. He’s on the fast track to becoming the head gamemaker, you know. An ally like that would be invaluable.”

“I’m not interested in any Capitol allies.”

That hurt Effie too – was she not his ally? She kept her mouth shut though.

 

* * *

 

Haymitch had his own personal stalker. He couldn’t shake Plutarch Heavensbee. He went to the party for the presentation of the tributes and Plutarch was there. He went to the bar, and Plutarch would turn up, wanting to buy him a drink. The only safe place was in the District 12 quarters, so that’s where Haymitch stayed.

Of course that had its challenges as well.

“Haymitch, perhaps you could show the children how to…”

He’d tuned Effie out as well as he could, but the woman never stopped, so occasionally her chattering broke through. 

“Haymitch, maybe you could teach them…”

It was never ending.

“Haymitch, put down the bottle and tell the tributes the story of your victory…”

He wanted to smash her head in.

He didn’t though, and when the scoring came, he sat in front of the screen with the others. Neither District 12 tribute scored higher than a five. He wasn’t surprised. Effie looked disappointed, but to her credit, she replaced the small frown almost immediately with a smile. “Well, the scores aren’t that important anyway. Anyone up for some cake?”

It was a lie. He knew it and so did Effie. A bad score meant no sponsors, so unless you had a strategy or were incredibly lucky, you were now dead. He said nothing to the children, letting them enjoy their treat.

Might as well enjoy their last meal.

 

* * *

 

They’d only worked together for a year, but Haymitch was already a familiar person in Effie’s life, or at least it felt like it. She recognized that the scoring was the only time Haymitch could be counted on to be sober or paying any real attention to the tributes. She had been hoping for another little lesson this year, but these kids scored lower than the last ones.

They probably wouldn’t make it out of the first day’s bloodbath.

She shook her head, dismissing such negative thoughts. Effie would see to it that they were treated as equally as the other districts. They would be as prepared as she could make them.

When the first day of the Games arrived, she handed a flute of champagne to Haymitch. He had just woken up, so he looked at the glass as though he didn’t know what it was. “What’s the occasion?”

Effie looked to the designers who were sleeping again. She set their glasses on the table in front of them. “I thought it would be good to start a new tradition. We shall toast the first day, which will hopefully lead to a celebration on the last.”

Haymitch drowned his glass in one swallow. Effie frowned and as she refilled it, she explained, “We are supposed to toast first.”

“I’m all for more drinking, Effie,” he downed his fresh glass as quickly as the last one, “but this is a stupid plan.”

Effie ignored him, filling his glass again. “It’s not a plan. It will be a tradition. And who knows, maybe it’ll bring our tributes luck.”

This time Haymitch waited. Effie lifted her glass, she bit her lip and looked to the designers. Haymitch said, “If we wait for them, it’ll be the end of the Games before you get your toast.”

A chuckle slipped out, but Effie repressed it quickly. Haymitch grinned, pleased to find that the escort did in fact have a sense of humor. She raised her glass, “To victory and good odds.”

Haymitch added, “To death and stacked decks.”

Effie didn’t like his added negativity, but they clinked glasses and downed their drinks before sitting down to watch the opening ceremonies.

 

* * *

 

Both kids died on the first day, and Haymitch found himself in the bar that evening. Chaff still had a girl in it, so he was talking with sponsors. Part of Haymitch wondered why his friend bothered, but he was also envious that Chaff still had that much hope. 

He downed another whiskey. Haymitch had lost all of his so long ago.

“Is this seat taken?”

Haymitch closed his eyes, unwilling to look at the other man, “Aren’t you busy right now? With the games being on and all.”

Plutarch looked at the television that was jumping from one sleeping child to another, only the career guard was awake. He whispered, “Don’t tell anyone, but there’s no excitement planned until tomorrow afternoon.”

Haymitch’s voice was dripped in sarcasm. “Oh goody.”

“Can I buy you a drink?”

“Look, I don’t know what your deal is, but I prefer the company of women.”

Plutarch chuckled lowly. “I don’t want to sleep with you, Haymitch.”

“Then what do you want?”

Plutarch looked at the bartender, and with a movement of his head dismissed the man. When they were alone, he still whispered, “Your help.”

Haymitch looked up at the television, Chaff’s girl happened to be on. She looked cold. “I can’t help anyone.”

“You are a clever victor with nothing left to lose. You must realize how important, how dangerous, you could be.” Haymitch looked unconvinced, pouring himself another drink from the now unattended bar, so Plutarch continued, “Everyone knows that District 12 suffers the most under Snow’s regime. You could make a real difference for your home, and we need a representative from 12.”

“What you’re suggesting…” Haymitch stopped himself from completing that sentence. They were in the Capitol; it was suicidal to have a conversation like this here. But one thing stuck out from what Plutarch had said. “A representative, just how many victors have you recruited?”

Plutarch shifted. “Enough.”

“That tells me nothing.”

“I can’t risk their exposure, especially if you decide not to join.”

“You’re exposing yourself by talking to me.”

Plutarch smiled, “Who are they going to believe – a respected gamemaker or a drunken victor?”

The man was clever, Haymitch had to give him credit there. And ballsy for even suggesting such a thing, even though he hadn’t spelled it out, Haymitch could infer what Plutarch was driving at. Haymitch wanted it confirmed, “Are you suggesting a protest by the victors?”

“No. What we’re looking for is all out war against the Capitol.”

Ballsy didn’t cover it, suicidal might. Haymitch considered his words carefully. “You could never win.”

“No. Alone you could not wage war against the Capitol. That was your mistake, Mr. Abernathy. You walked out of that arena feeling invincible; you had to be brought down a notch.”

He said it with a glib smile that made Haymitch punch the other man in the face. How dare he trivialize such a traumatic event in his life?

To his credit, Plutarch took the punch in stride. “Have you heard the rumors about District 13?”

Still seething, Haymitch sneered, “Still got working ears. Guess that’s real?”

“Yes. It’s a key component to our plan.”

Haymitch laughed. “I finally figured it out. You’re insane. Did someone put you up to this?”

Plutarch took a deep breath. “It’s not surprising that you don’t believe me, don’t want to open yourself up to that kind of hope. But do me a favor, next time they show footage of 13, watch the corner of the screen for a bird. It will be there every time. Because it’s recycled footage. The Capitol never beat the Districts. Beat them down, yes, but never fully conquered them.”

He still didn’t believe the gamemakeer, but after another free drink, Haymtich asked, “Why would I do such a thing? Why should I risk my neck?”

“Aren’t you tired of sending children to die?”

It was the perfect thing to say to him. He was so tired of leading lambs to the slaughter.

Before Haymitch could say anything else, Effie walked in. “Haymitch, I’ve been looking everywhere…” She noticed his drinking buddy. “Oh.”

Without missing a beat, Plutarch was up, greeting Effie, “Miss Trinket it, always a pleasure to see you.” He kissed the sides of both cheeks, which she returned. “I’m sorry, I had to steal your victor for a while. It’s just not often one gets the chance to drink with a Quell Victor.” He looked back to Haymtich with a wicked glance. “And such a seasoned drinker at that.”

Snapping out of the daze that had come over her at the surprise of seeing Plutarch and Haymitch sharing a drink, Effie beamed. “I’m sure that’s not true. Being a gamemaker, I’m sure you can pick any of the victors at any time for dinner companions.”

Plutarch’s smile didn’t quite reach his eyes, but his tone remained cheerful. “We’re usually just so busy around this time, we never get to participate in any of the fun.” They both laughed. “I’m afraid I was just leaving though. I’m so tired.” He looked to the screen. “And there seem to be so few opportunities for rest once the Games begin.”

Effie nodded empathetically, and with a wave, Plutarch left. Effie nearly squealed in excitement as she approached Haymitch. “What did he say to you?” She frowned. “What did you say to him?”

Their words swirled in Haymitch’s head and he doused them with alcohol. “Nothing interesting.”

“Did you make friends with him?”

Haymitch finished his drink. “I’m not sure I want to be his friend.”

“Oh you should do it, Haymitch. Think of your district and how it would benefit them.”

Effie Trinket was supporting open rebellion against the Capitol. It was so absurd that Haymitch began laughing uncontrollably.

Effie thought he was crazy, but escorted him back to their suite as if nothing were amiss. On the elevator, Effie realized that Haymitch’s hand was bleeding. “What did you do?”


	7. Chapter 7

This year’s victor was the girl from Two. It had come down to her and her district partner. Neither had hesitated to attack the other, but he’d only managed a superficial wound against her fatal blow.

Effie came back to 12 again to offer the families condolences. She asked Haymitch to accompany her, but he again declined. He suspected this year had gone no better, but again Effie made no hint that it had been anything but a success.

Haymitch commended her, Effie was good at this job, putting a smile on no matter what. “What color are you thinking for this year’s Victor’s ball?”

“I’m not going, Effie.”

“Of course you are. If you don’t go, I can’t go.”

“Not seeing how that would change my mind.” 

“Please,” Effie whined.

Haymitch was not impressed.

“Fine,” Effie resisted the urge to stomp her foot. “You know what that means?” He didn’t. “We’ll just need a victor then. It’s better when the party revolves around you anyway. Which means we’ll have to strategize more. I’ll come down every week. I already got your phone number from the mayor, so I can call you when I have an idea.”

Haymitch went pale at the thought of this much Effie in his life. “If you call me once, I will rip the phone out of the wall.”

She smiled as she would to petulant child, “Very funny, Haymitch.” Looking at him again, she frowned. “We’ll have to do something about you as well. Your appearance can be tidied, but how will we redirect years of your image of a sloven drunk?”

Still gasping at words flowing from his escort’s mouth, Haymitch muttered, “I like being a sloven drunk.’

Effie ignored him. “Your attitude is what really needs to be fixed. Perhaps we can somehow start an etiquette school here in the district so the children have some manners before I get to them.”

Haymitch was tempted to say nothing at that suggestion, just to watch Effie try to bring that up to President Snow, and if by some miracle it passed, to actually see her try to teach starving children the proper way to hold their cutlery. “Slow down, princess. What it takes to win is desire and luck.”

His words were sober and enlightening enough to stop Effie. Was Haymitch opening up? Sharing wisdom? She wished she had a recorder. “What do you mean?”

“12 is not a career district and it never will be, sweetheart. We only win with luck and some skill to back it up, just like all of the outlying districts. It’s why we don’t get a lot of victors. We’re playing against a stacked hand.”

Effie frowned again. “No. The games are fair. Every district has a fair chance of winning. I understand that 12 is an underdog, but all it would take is the right amount of charm to appeal to…”

She continued, but Haymitch tuned her out. Why did he bother? This capital woman would never understand the evil behind the games. And if she did…

Haymitch thought about an Effie that knew she participated in sending children to slaughter to punish the rebellion of their great-grandparents. He guessed she’d be less peppy.

Which made him somewhat determined to see it happen.

 

* * *

 

Effie had kept her promise and Haymitch got a phone call nearly daily from her. She spoke about all sorts of nonsense, always beginning the call with how her day was going and Capital gossip. Haymitch used to hang up when she bored him, but soon realized that just made her call back and talk about a bad connection. He soon just put the phone down as he drank, listening for her eventual screech of his name to pick it up again. 

So rare was it that she ever said anything of importance that he almost missed a vital piece of information from her. “…I guess I’m just out of sorts today. My father died ten years ago today but because of Snow’s grievance laws, my family isn’t allowed to acknowledge or grieve for him in anyway.”

Haymitch had been looking for another bottle but the name Snow had caught his attention. He remembered that Effie’s father had once worked for him, as an escort to the districts. “Wait. What?”

Effie’s breath caught, as she hadn’t realized what she had said to him. He never listened to her and she had begun to use him as a sounding board for all of her problems. The idea that he did pay attention, rattled her for some reason. Especially that he caught on to the one slightly treasonous comment she made. “Um, well, I mean…”

“Spit it out, Trinket.”

That angered her, which called forth words, “My father died thirteen years ago today. Snow blamed him for not putting down an uprising in one of your little districts, and Snow branded him a traitor and on his way back to us, he died in a train wreck. My family wasn’t even allowed to bury him because of what Snow said about him. It took me years to polish off the tarnish he left.”

After the words had flowed out, Effie’s breath came short. She had never said any of this to anyone. Never spoke ill of Snow, never talked about her father’s death or her quest to restore the Trinket name. Saying it out loud, she began to panic.

“Effie…” Haymitch’s voice was soft and full of understanding, which only made Effie even more aware of the mistake she had made.

She wanted to hang up, never speak of this again. But that would ensure it would be forever a big deal. So instead she said, “Never mind of all that Haymitch. It’s in the past now, forever forgotten. Did I tell you about my friend Milly’s party last week?”

Haymitch understood the sudden topic change. It was wise actually, to have a conversation about Effie’s father, who Haymitch now knew rather than suspected was killed by Snow, over an unsecure phone line was beyond foolish. He sighed, “No.”

Effie then launched into a story where the major tragic event was that mayonnaise had been used rather than cream cheese in some kind of puff appetizer. It was a much safer conversation, but Haymitch didn’t care. He didn’t want to hear any of this. It felt like torture.

Every time he hung up the phone, he felt the desire to rip out the phone from the wall as promised. Never to hear Effie’s annoying voice, leaving him to his booze and solitude, and relative peace.

Any day now, he’d do it.

 

* * *

 

When the next games came, Haymitch was dressed that day. Effie had spent the last two weeks reminding him what outfit to wear. Part of him wanted to defy her, just for the fun of it, but he dreaded what would happen the next year if he did that. She’d probably call him every hour in the weeks before the games rather than every day. 

He’d dressed early, so he decided that he had time to polish off a bottle before facing the crowd. Part of him almost wished he was from a career district where Reaping Day was actually an exciting event rather than a somber one. He’d always despised those districts for not recognizing that they were just slave to the Capital with pretty chains that they seemed proud of. But it would be nice to have proud faces staring back at him rather than anxious, fearful ones.

For twenty years, he’d only seen parents dreading that their child would be picked, children dreading that their name would be called, and a community too weary to do anything but mask their anger as resignation. He wondered if he’d have time for two bottles.

 

* * *

 

The 70th Hunger Games – Effie felt like this year was the year, her year. Especially as the escort for District Two had announced his retirement following these games. That spot would be hers. 

When Snow had invited her to his gardens, her heart had leapt at the invitation, as that must have meant that he saw her work on the games. He was very soft-spoken, which surprised her, as he’d always been so larger than life in her mind. But as he clipped roses, he asked, “Do you enjoy being the escort for District 12?”

Effie bit her lip. She didn’t. She wanted a better district, but didn’t want to appear ungrateful for her current position. “I love being involved in the games in any way.”

Snow nodded. “Your father worked with the districts, didn’t he? Before his passing.”

The question seemingly came out of nowhere, but Effie knew that it hadn’t. It had been one week since her confession to Haymitch. She repeated the standard line, “My father did, but he was a traitor. I am nothing like him.”

It always hurt to say that. She had loved her father so much. Her favorite memories were his bedtime stories of game victors, watching the games with him, and his teasing of her crush on a certain District 12 victor. She blushed at that memory; she had forgotten about that until now.

Snow had noticed none of this, still clipping at roses, “What do you think of District 12?”

“It’s filthy and the people have no manners.”

Snow studied a rose. “Including their victor?”

“He’s the worst one of all. Always drunk and useless.” Effie wanted to go on, but refrained, hoping that would please Snow.

She didn’t know, as his actions revealed nothing to her. He said, “Your district is getting new stylists this year.” He faced her with a smile. “I picked them out myself.”

She smiled back, “I’m sure they will be perfect.”

It had been a short meeting, and she hoped it promised good things for her career, but the entire thing had felt threatening and left her unsettled.

But she put it out of her mind, as she walked to the square where she would pick two names, one of which would get her out of that crummy district. Then she could put this all behind her, and focus only on the pleasant things, just as she had always done.

 

* * *

 

Aboard the train with this year’s annual child sacrifices, Haymitch was faced with a dilemma. He was resting on the couch and he wanted to nap, but in this position he couldn’t continue drink without choking himself. It was a tricky one. 

Then he thought of a solution, “Effie! Effie! Get me a straw.”

She was sitting with the children at the table, so he knew she heard him. She made no sound, but he could feel the disapproval radiating off. “Get it yourself.”

Haymitch tried to remember the names of the kids, to order one of them to fetch it, but they escaped him. He wondered if they would answer to boy/girl, as he had no intention of learning their names. Names made the job harder in the end.

He attempted to lift his head, but half of the drink dribbled down his chin. He laid back down and listened to Effie scold the children about table manners. He was disappointed in Effie, she’d nearly been human in that one phone conversation. Which made this vapid Effie even more irritating to deal with, because he knew under all that make-up, she wasn’t that terrible.

After a while she dismissed the children. Haymitch figured she had gone with them until he heard the clicking of her heels circling the couch. They stopped.

“Honestly, Haymitch, I had thought with all of our talks, you’d be more presentable this year.” Effie sat across from him, holding out a straw.

He held up his bottle, making Effie frown though she did place it in for him. He took a long sip before answering, “I was very presentable. Do you not see my fashionable clothing?” He motioned down his body. “The latest in Capitol fashions, I assure you.”

“Yes, but still so plain and boring.”

“You picked them out.”

“You won’t let me give you anything bold and daring!” Effie’s voice went up an octave at her rebuttal. In an attempt to regain her footing, she smoothed out her dress and continued in her normal voice. “There’s a spot opening for a new escort in District 2.”

“Oh?” Haymitch took another long swallow. “And how did you learn that?”

Effie smiled, as though she had secrets, “I have my ways. And with my recent personal meeting with President Snow, I’m sure that I…”

Haymitch was sitting up in an instant, “You met with Snow? What did you talk about?”

“Nothing much. My work, our new stylists.”

“That’s all? Think carefully, Effie.”

She bit her lip before answering softly, “He did bring up my father."

Haymitch’s blood turned to ice. So his phone was tapped. Was Snow planning anything? Was Effie in danger? It didn’t seem possible. Effie was Capitol to her bones, how could he threaten her?

The same way he threatened everyone. They would have to be careful.

Haymitch finished his bottle. “I seem to be empty.” He shook it for emphasis. “Would you mind getting me another?”

Pain flashed across Effie’s face, but Haymitch forced himself to ignore it. She stood, smoothing out her skirt again. “Get it yourself.”

She stumbled as she walked away and Haymitch fetched his own drink.

 

* * *

 

The tributes were off being prepped, so Effie was attempting to come up with a game plan moving forward. As usual, Haymitch was offering no help, just drinking on the sofa. Thinking out loud, Effie said, “We have new stylists this year, which means we’ll really have a chance to make an impression.” 

“So what? The outfits will have working headlights this year?”

“Well, perhaps they’ll be dressed in gold, since you’re miners.”

“That’s District 1. We only dig for coal.”

“Well coal turns into to gold.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“We’ll it turns into something valuable. Pearls, I guess.”

Haymitch thought about correcting the idiot. But as he looked at her working so diligently at the table, he realized that he was beginning to think of her as his idiot. Where was this loyalty toward her coming from?

He drank more, hoping the feeling would go away, “Have you met them yet?”

“No. We’ll probably meet them after the parade.”

Haymitch nodded though Effie didn’t see. She asked, “Do you think there will be any new sponsors this year?” Haymitch gave no response, so she continued, “They usually are present at the Victor’s Ball, but since you decided that we wouldn’t attend this year…”

Interrupting her passive aggressive soliloquy, Haymitch said, “Effie, I swear, I’ve never hit a woman, but…”

Without thinking, she responded, “Well, that’s not true. I watched your games.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, she realized they were a mistake. Haymitch left the room in a rage, wondering how he could ever consider loyalty to that woman.

 

* * *

 

The escort and mentor had not spoken since that exchange. Now backstage waiting for the interviews to play out, Haymitch wished he could more easily forgive. He recognized almost immediately that these designers acted more like guards (or spies) and had no desire to incriminate himself by talking with them. The rest of the mentors were focusing on their tributes, so he had no one to talk to at the moment. Which was usually fine, but for some reason he was missing Effie’s annoying chatter.

Fed up with her cold shoulder, Haymitch began to make his way to the other groups. District Four had finished their interviews, so Mags should be around at the very least. Haymitch would even settle for the pretty boy’s company.

Finnick was who he spotted first. Since it was a closed area, he didn’t have his usual group of girls surrounding him.

But there was one girl with him.

After a moment, Haymitch recognized her as the female tribute for Four that year. What was her name? Anna, Annie, something like that.

Finnick was laughing, while the girl (who was still being dressed as a mermaid even though the parade was over) twirled a trident. She thrust it into the mentor’s face without warning, but rather than looking upset, Finnick looked pleased.

Haymitch looked closer and realized that twinkle in the young man’s eye ran deeper than amusement.

“What are you doing here?”

Wrapped up in what he was watching, Haymitch hadn’t heard Mags sneak up on him. He waited for her to waddle her way next to him. He pointed toward the mentor and tribute, “You worried about that?”

Mags shook her head. “Shouldn’t amount to much. That nice girl will not survive the games. She sees it all as a sporting event. At her first taste of death, she’ll break. And Finnick will get over her.”

It was almost a cruel thing to say, but Haymitch recognized there was no room for anything less than brutal truths in the games.

The two continued to flirt, oblivious to anyone who might be watching.

Mags lowered her voice, “Have you spoken with Plutarch yet?”

Haymitch’s eyebrows joined the rest of his hair. “You have?”

“I know it’s not easy for you to trust, and for good reason.” She placed a hand on his arm, “But hear him out, Haymitch.”

That was one hell of a recommendation, as Haymitch had been dodging the Gamemaker again during these games. Even though his claim about the bird was true, Haymitch couldn’t believe that anyone from the Capital could be trusted.


	8. Chapter 8

“Haymitch! Haymitch!” Effie’s voice carried through the suite.

Haymitch didn’t move from his bed. He’d been out late drinking with Chaff the night before. Eventually, she came pounding on his door. “Haymitch Francis Abernathy, you get out here right this instant!”

For a moment, as he rolled out of the bed, Haymitch wondered how she had learned his middle name. Once he was standing, he remembered that Francis was not his middle name. He kick a few bottles aside as he made for the door. He opened it slightly, and even that amount of brightness hurt his eyes. “You are being too loud.”

Effie looked pissed. She pressed hard against the door and nearly sent him flying backward as she walked into his room. “I know that you’re mad at me, but I will not have you taking it out on those children.”

Haymitch’s still drunk brain couldn’t follow what she was saying. He began to look through the bottles on the floor, they couldn’t all be empty. “What are you talking about?”

“I had to escort them to the training area, which I’ve been doing all week, which is your job!”

Effie was sitting on his bed now, and with no luck in his search for alcohol, Haymitch imagined something unsavory. He grinned, “I’ve never understood why. You’re the escort, you should escort them places.”

“Yes, well.” Effie flustered for a moment unsure of what to say. “Mentors are supposed to give them tips as they walk them down. Good mentors, anyway.” She straightened out her skirt.

Haymitch opened his mouth to answer back, but a stylist peeked in at this moment. He grinned, “I’m sorry, I’m interrupting something?”

Effie shot up from the bed as if it had burned her. She was all smiles again, “Of course not. We were just discussing strategy for our dear tributes.”

“In his room?” The stylist nodded to Haymitch.

Effie blushed, but Haymitch grinned, still saying nothing. He knew how this looked but frankly didn’t care. So what if Snow thought he was having an affair with his escort? They might kill Effie, but as far as he cared, that was a problem solved. His need for liquor returned and he tried to remember if he’d stored any bottles in here.

Effie, still attempting for some dignity, replied, “What are you insinuating? I will not let you spread slanderous gossip against me, now be gone and let us finish our planning discussion in peace.”

The stylist nearly laughed, “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll let you finish.”

Effie yelled after his laughter, “The door was open and still open, you nitwit. No one would possibly believe you!” She turned, bright red, to Haymitch. She smacked him on the arm. “This is all your fault.”

“How is this my fault? You barged in here.” Haymitch remembered a bottle hidden under the bed and made his way over to it.

“Don’t you understand? This could be my year. I could be transferred to Two and my career would be so much better. I could even get deals for outside of the games. Can’t you see how important this is to me?”

Bottle now in hand, Haymitch shrugged. “You forget, Princess. I don’t care about you.”

Fuming again, Effie stomped out of the room, yelling, “I don’t know why I even bother!”

Honestly, Haymitch took a long drink, neither did he.

 

* * *

 

After getting the low scores for his tributes, Haymitch had gone directly to the bar. He didn’t want to eat another last meal with two dead children.

“I hear Mags spoke with you.”

Haymitch nearly flinched at Plutarch’s voice. He looked around, when had everyone else left the bar? “Yeah, what of it?” Haymitch returned to his drink.

“You know, it’s harder now to see you. Those stylists are Snow’s spies. You need to be careful around them.”

Haymitch didn’t bother to lie, even though he still didn’t trust this man. “I figured as much.”

“Snow’s worried about you…and Effie.” Haymitch raised an eyebrow at that. Plutarch continued, “He’s worried that Effie’s family history and hint of rebellion earlier this summer combined with your past may spark something dangerous between the two of you.”

That told Haymitch two things: his calls were monitored and Plutarch must be very close to Snow, indeed. Haymitch finished his drink, grabbing a bottle from the unattended bar to pour another one. “She’s an idiot, and she wouldn’t know how to be disloyal to the Capital if she wanted to be.”

“You don’t need to convince me. Prove it to your stylists.”

Haymitch started on the new drink. “What exactly am I proving?”

“That you’re an unambitious drunk and she’s a ditzy career-climber. And you have nothing more than a working relationship.”

Had word of that afternoon spread that quickly? “Snow thinks that we don’t?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time an escort and victor fell in love.” Plutarch noticed a noise coming towards the bar. “And for the record, it’s never ended well. You and Effie would be considered a dangerous combination.”

For all of his previous thoughts, Haymitch knew he wouldn’t want to be responsible for Effie’s death. It wouldn’t be hard to convince anyone that they were what they were. He wouldn’t even need to tell her how to act.

Effie was right, this would be her year, and she’d be transferred if deemed a non-threat, just in case she was too close to him. He didn’t know why, or was unable to allow himself to know, but he didn’t like the idea of Effie leaving him. He was just getting used to her, and he didn’t want to break in yet another new escort.

 

* * *

 

They toasted at the beginning of the games again this year, Effie still wanting to cultivate a tradition. Though this year the stylists participated. Haymitch felt their eyes on him and the escort the entire time, so he decided now would be a good time to begin his convincing. “Effie, you look like a damned peacock.” Haymitch grabbed the bottle and plopped down on the coach.

The escort smiled and excitedly told him, “Thank you for noticing. Birds are all the rage this year. I just love the colors.” She followed Haymitch, sitting beside him but immediately turned to the stylists, “What have you two seen lately?”

Both of them looked at a loss, which made Haymitch smile internally. He said, “Yes, tell us all about what’s happening in the fashion world right now.”

They looked to each other before the woman replied, “Like you said Miss Trinket. Birds.”

Effie looked disappointed. “Well, yes, but they are on the way out, I was hoping you’d know what was coming next.”

“Um…” both replied. Haymitch had to force himself not to look at Effie as he knew the look would not be his usual one of contempt. He was proud of his idiot right now for tripping up their spies, even if she didn’t realize it.

The games starting saved them from any more fashion advice. Surprisingly both tributes made it out of the bloodbath alive, but neither had grabbed any supplies. This year the arena, was a desert with wooden paneling along the outside. Haymitch took another drink, it was harder for some reason to watch them starve to death.

Effie was up and pulling him as soon as the kids had escaped. “Come on, Haymitch, we need to get sponsors.”

Haymitch looked at their spies who were watching carefully. He doubted they’d convinced them yet, but he really did want to be rid of them even for a moment. He finished the bottle as she dragged him behind her.

 

* * *

 

Effie was scrambling. Both tributes needed water, she knew, but no one was willing to talk with her. She glanced over to see Finnick with a group of girls around him. Her jealousy for the District Four escort spiked. Why couldn’t she have a victor like that?

Haymitch was parked over by the bar, mumbling to himself. She had tried to get him up and mingling, but he’d refused telling her that if she had anyone, he’d be over.

It was beyond frustrating and part of her felt like crying, first he humiliates her and now he refused to help. Couldn’t he do anything?

She wouldn’t give up. The tributes needed her and even if she had to drag him along, she would get them a bottle of water. She approached a group with a smile. They were laughing, but recognized her immediately. “Oh Effie, still trying to help out your hopeless tributes?”

She kept the smile on despite they’re mocking tone. “Well it is my job. Girl’s got to make a living after all.” She joined in their laughter.

They moved on to another topic, which Effie allowed. Let them get a little more liquored up before asking one of them to support the impossible. They commented on the games, mostly making fun of the children who were desperately looking for water. “You know, I heard from Seneca Crane himself, that the entire arena is surrounded by water if the little morons would just look for it.”

Effie felt the slightest twinge of hope at that, but how would they communicate to the tributes inside?  The camera focused on the career group now. Someone else said, “I put all of my money on that big boy from Two. With their escort retiring this year, I’m sure they’ll be the winning district this time around.”

Effie was listening again. What else did they know about the retirement? Was she in the running? One of them noticed and said, “Effie, you should take that job. Your talents are wasted on that oaf and such a useless district.”

Effie’s eyes turned to Haymitch, who hadn’t moved though she was sure his glass had been refilled several times. “It would be a great opportunity.” She said carefully.

“Yes, you should get Two,” another agreed. “I’d much rather watch your pretty face next year.”

Effie blushed, showing just the right amount of humbleness. She looked at the games again, and an argument had formed between the boys from One and Four. Without warning, the tribute from One walked over and removed the boy from Four’s head. The girl from Four, Annie, screamed.

“Annie!”

That scream had come from within the room and all eyes turned to the source, Finnick.

He looked as shocked at the outburst as anyone. The women around him had all stepped back at his sudden shout, looking uncertainly between the screen of the girl running away and the handsome Victor.

After a moment, he recomposed himself and slipped a smile back on. “Sorry, ladies and everyone else. It’s hard not to get attached to those dear kids sometimes. Hard not to be affected by the drama of the games.”

His dramatic tone had won the crowd over and the conversations all resumed. Effie was no longer paying attention though, she was looking at Haymitch who had gotten up and was now talking with Mags. What on earth did Haymitch have to say to the ancient Victor?

Effie hoped he was just being polite and expressing his sorrow at the loss of the boy.

 

* * *

 

While they had been unable to gain any sponsors, Effie considered it a success. After all, Haymitch hadn’t embarrassed them and she had more gossip on the spot that would soon be hers. Alone in the elevator, Effie asked, “What were you speaking with Mags about?”

“None of your damn business.”

Effie bristled, “Well, I hope you minded your manners and expressed condolences for that poor boy.”

Haymitch said nothing. He had been expressing his pity for the boy from Four, but not the dead one.

Unable to stand silence, Effie continued to talk, “You know, I’m very encouraged with our tributes still being alive. And I heard that the entire arena is surrounded by water. With that one from Three, working on bringing one of the panels down…”

“What?” Haymitch interrupted. “How is that good? No one from Twelve knows how to swim. If the arena gets flooded they’ll die for sure.”

“Well, it may not flood.”

“Of course it will. They are trying to kill them, Trinket. When are you going to get that through your thick skull?”

They reached their floor.

 

* * *

 

It had happened exactly as Haymitch had predicted. As soon as the wall came down, the arena flooded. The tributes from 12 were the first two to die. “Oh Haymitch.” Effie grabbed on to him.

He brutally shook her off. “I told you this would happen.” Effie looked away, wounded. She had thought they were, not friends, but something.

Haymitch looked to the stylists who seemed pleased with his rough treatment. Haymitch turned and fixed a drink.

Effie asked softly, “Who do you think will win?”

Haymitch didn’t turn back around to answer. “It will be the girl from Four. She will be the best swimmer.” It was cruel, he thought. That girl was too broken to come back. He downed his drink. It was that outburst from Finnick, they don’t want to lose her, not when they can use her to twist the knife for him. Part of him felt sorry for the boy, but he was determined to drown that part of him with booze. He kept drinking, not noticing when Effie and the stylists left the room or when Annie officially won.

 

* * *

 

Because the girl was so damaged, this Victory Tour was essentially, Finnick’s sequel tour. Haymitch watched their visit to 12, watched them parade him around the stage. He carefully shook Annie’s hand, who had thankfully switched her continuous screaming for violent shaking. When Finnick hugged him, he whispered, “How did you get through it?”

Haymitch figured Mags must have told the boy about what had happened to him after his Victory Tour, about his family and his girl. He hated to be exposed like that especially to this pretty boy, but his better self won out and he whispered back, “She’s still alive. Keep her alive.”

Finnick nodded, turned around and smiled wider for the cameras.

For the first time, Haymitch found himself liking the kid.

 

* * *

 

The night of the Victor’s Ball, Haymitch still found himself in the company of Effie, who had insisted on calling. “If you’re not going to let me have the benefits of being at the party, you will at least listen to what I’ve learned.”

It wasn’t logical, but Haymitch had tried hanging up on her three times already, but the woman was determined. He half-heartedly listened, as Effie described the dresses and suits the other escorts would be wearing, including the aquamarine dress she had picked out for this occasion that was going to waste thanks to him.

She ended her rant by saying, “Also the District Two escort has decided to wait until next year to retire. Rumor has it, she wants to retire on a Victory and this was supposed to be this year, which is ridiculous as everyone knows the games aren’t fixed.”

Haymitch’s laughter drowned out the rest of Effie’s attempts at conversation and she hung up in a huff.

 


	9. Chapter 9

Effie pulled back her hair tightly, pinning down every last strand. She had a brand new brilliant red wig this year and she didn’t want a stray piece of blonde to escape and ruin the effect. She wanted to stand out, wanted to look her best. She had worked as a model before becoming an escort. She knew she had the looks and knew that this year would be the year she would get her promotion to a better district.

She secured the wig firmly. It matched her dress, but black accents and shoes helped it look modern, stylish, and memorable. The dress had come from a stylist Plutarch had recommended over lunch, Cinna. Just one name, like many of the best before him – she predicted big things for him in the future.

Remembering the lunch made her frown though, Plutarch had been talking about Haymitch too much for her taste. In fact, she’d left in a huff after he’d insinuated that there was something going on between her and the mentor.

As if she couldn’t do any better than a drunken victor? The nerve.

She pushed her anger down and smoothed out imaginary lines in her dress. It was another Reaping Day, which meant another trip to Haymitch’s house. She remembered the time when he’d kissed her and for some unknown reason the memory made her blush.

She just hoped he wasn’t too drunk this year.

 

* * *

 

Haymitch kept twirling the note with his fingers. His usual shipment of clothes from the Capitol had come a week before Reaping Day, as usual. But this year they came with a note from the man who had designed the clothes, Cinna. He’d expressed admiration for Haymitch and mentioned wanting to speak with him when he came to the Capitol. He mentioned their mutual acquaintance with Plutarch Heavensbee.   

Haymitch understood that was code for “I’m against the Capitol too.” He didn’t like this. He didn’t want to be bribed and persuaded to join a pointless rebellion. He just wanted to be left alone.

He had cut down his drinking this past week, wanting to have his wits about him for this new player. But he still held a flask in his other hand.

A knock on the door broke him from his thoughts. He rushed up to open it.

His quick response clearly surprised Effie. It took her a moment to understand that he was awake and relatively sober. He was in dressed in the matching outfit like she’d requested. She smiled at him, “You’re ready.”

Haymitch looked around, wondering if they were alone. He said nothing in return. Effie berated him for his rude manners, but his mind was elsewhere. Secret rebellions, District 13, victors allying with Capitol folk, it didn’t compute. And why would they need him? He was just a drunk has-been.

Effie’s shrill voice broke through the fog his mind was lost in. “Are you even listening to me?”

“No,” he replied honestly.

This caused the escort to huff up again. She began to walk off his porch, her shoes echoing off the cobblestones of the street. He knew she expected him to follow, but he didn’t want to go this year. He feared more than just dead children this time.

He was beginning to realize more was at stake.

 

* * *

 

The reaping had been uneventful. Now mentor and escort waited on the train as crying families said their good-byes to their good as dead children. Haymitch’s fingers itched for a drink, but he was still trying to keep his wits about him. 

Effie looked at her clipboard. “We will be running late in exactly five minutes.” She looked out the window, annoyed. “What’s taking so long?”

“They are saying good-bye. When parents say good-bye to the children they are being forced to sacrifice, I doubt they care about the time.” He noticed Effie’s downcast face. “Don’t worry. The peacekeepers have no problems ripping cry children from their mother’s arms. Your schedule won’t be in jeopardy.”

Effie frowned, “You shouldn’t say such things.”

He caught the note of warning behind her words and wondered if she wasn’t as dumb as she appeared. He replied, “What are they going to do? I have nothing left to lose.”

His own words echoed in his mind. He had nothing left to lose. So why wasn’t he the first to sign on for this rebellion? That Finnick kid had a sweetheart. Mags had the kid. Plutarch clearly had positon, wealth and power. But Haymitch, if he was caught, the only thing he had left was his life. Did he really prize that so much? More than the chance of the freedom for the districts?

He noticed Effie staring at him. “What?”

“You’re just being unusually quiet and sober.”

Haymitch realized she was right. He had a role to play, and he wasn’t hitting his marks. So he grabbed a bottle, resolving to barricade himself in his room for the entire train ride.

 

* * *

 

Effie kept her eye out for Haymitch as they watched the parade of tributes in their suite, almost more worried by this quiet, not drunk version of him. She knew something was up with him and her gut was telling her it was something dangerous. But she couldn’t fathom what it could be. 

The stylists came into the room, both giddy. She smiled at them, which was more reflex than anything, asking, “What are you two so excited about?”

“Oh nothing,” the girl giggled. “But this year, the tributes from 12 will be remembered.”

Effie exchanged a worried glance with Haymitch. She plastered the smile back on her face as she turned to face the stylists again, “What do you mean?”

“You’ll see.” Both stylists resumed their giddy giggling, running off to find some refreshments.

Effie walked over to Haymitch, “What do you supposed that means?”

Haymitch said nothing, turning his head to actually watch the parade.

It started as it always did. The first pair were decked out in jewels, the next dressed as warriors and so on. When the cameras finally got to the twelfth pair, Effie’s eyes widened.

What had those fools done?

Haymitch put it into words, “Effie, why are our kids naked?”

She shook her head, knowing that she couldn’t show her shock and dismay. “They aren’t really naked. They are covered in black.” She explained as if to a child. “The black represents coal.”

“Coal miners don’t work naked.”

Effie tried to think of some way to defend the stylists, but this was just bad. She never thought she’d long for the old fuddies who just recycled the same coal miner outfits year after year. She watched the screen for a moment, “They’re fidgeting too much up there. We’ll have to train them to be more comfortable with the attention.”

“They’re naked! Of course, they’re uncomfortable.”

Caesar was expressing some excitement about the daring of District 12, so she decided to try to make the best out of the situation, “They’re getting noticed though. That’s good.”

Haymitch finished his bottle. “We need to get down there.” He grabbed a few blankets from the couch.

“What are those for?” Effie asked.

“For our children.” Effie was taken aback. His choice of words made it sound strange. She realized he’d called them that earlier as well. “We have to escort them to their deaths, but I’m not having them walk around naked.”

He stormed out and Effie followed, torn between her surprise and pride at Haymitch’s caring.

 

* * *

 

Haymitch was in the bar, still fuming about the parade. Yes, the girl was 17 and the boy 16, so it wasn’t technically illegal. But it still infuriated him. It also drove him here, where Plutarch had met him last time.

He was watching the highlight reel when Chaff and Blight joined him. Chaff hit Haymitch on the shoulder and pointed at the screen. “That’s his girl.”

It was the girl who had been reaped from 7. She was sobbing. Haymitch raised his glass to Blight, “Better luck next year.” 

Blight shook his head, ordering a drink. Chaff explained, “He says the girls a winner.”

Haymitch looked at the screen again, the girl was still crying. He scoffed, “You should really know better by now.”

“I’m telling you, this Johanna Mason, she’s winning the whole thing.” Chaff and Haymitch exchanged looks, but Blight continued, “Look, she doesn’t cry on the train or in the suite at all. Even snaps at the boy when he starts sniffling. That’s all part of her game. Plus her and her brother climb trees like monkeys and know their way around an axe.” He took a drink. “Do you know what she said on the train?”

“What?”

“She asked if she could expect sponsors. I gave her the standard answer and she said, ‘Cut the BS. It will just get me killed. Does a pretty girl dressed like a tree stand a chance?’ I was speechless. Eventually I answered, ‘No. Not unless you make one hell of an impression during your interview.’ She was quiet for a moment and then said, ‘I don’t have a good story.’ She didn’t say anything else on the train and after that every time there was a camera on her, she started crying.”

Haymitch thought about it and it would be a good strategy. Pretend to be weak so that everyone underestimates you. But he still wondered if Blight was just deluding himself, not wanting to admit his tribute’s weakness. “Why are you telling us this?”

Blight looked carefully at Haymitch. “Because she reminds me of you. She’s clever and determined to win, but she’s also mouthy and angry. She even has the brother and grandmother waiting back home.” Blight looked around and lowered his voice. “I’m afraid history will repeat itself. She’s too damn stubborn to listen, but could you please promise to try to warn her at the Victory Ball?”

Haymitch didn’t see the harm since it would never happen. “Sure.”

Blight seemed to relax a little. “You know, I’ve never actually had a victor before. It’s a little exciting.”

Haymitch’s stomach turned at that comment. “If you’re so sure she’ll win, why aren’t you out courting sponsors?”

“It’s day one and all she’s done is cry. No one is betting on her. I may get some sympathy later but that usually doesn’t translate to gifts. She’s on her own in there, and she knows it.”

Chaff decided it was time for a change in topic, throwing his arm around the District 12 Mentor, “So why were your tributes naked in the parade?”

Haymitch shook his head, “We have the worst damn stylists.”

“You know, I know someone who could help with that.” A new voice offered.

All of the Victors looked up to see a well-dressed Capitol man who managed to be in style without going over-the-top. He extended a hand to Haymitch, “Hello, I’m Cinna.”

Haymitch looked at the hand before returning to his drink. Chaff stepped in to take the hand. “Chaff of District 11.”

Cinna smiled and nodded in greeting. He did the same for the District 7 Mentor. Haymitch didn’t miss that all of these men from very different backgrounds seemed to know each other already. It was all just another game. He waved the bartender over for a refill.

Cinna joined their little group, but refrained from any alcohol. “I’m a recovering alcoholic,” he explained.

Haymitch hadn’t asked.

The other men made small talk as Haymitch decided to end his restraint on drinking. He didn’t care about the danger and needing a clear head. He just wanted to not feel anything for a while.

He hadn’t noticed when he’d been left alone with Cinna. His memory struggled to remember the other victors leaving, but came up blank. Cinna sat next to him saying nothing.

“Well?” Haymitch started.

“Well what?” Cinna asked.

“Isn’t this the part where you give me your pitch?” He lowered his voice. ‘Tell me about why I need to join your little rebellion.”

Cinna cocked his head to the side, and then took a sip of water. “I doubt anything I say will make a difference to you.”

“Damn right,” Haymitch grumbled, wondering if this Capitol prick was just humoring him. He finished another drink. “So why are you still here then?”

“No one should drink alone.”

“You don’t drink.”

“But I used to drink, so much. Because I was lonely and angry.” Haymitch tried to ignore his words, pretend there was no truth in them. Cinna continued, “I needed a purpose. Something greater than myself to focus on and I found it.” He looked over to the mentor, knowing that despite his feigned disinterest, he was listening to every word. “I don’t expect you to trust me. It’s wise not to trust anyone. You’re a smart man, Haymitch, and we could use that. More than…” he chuckled looking down at himself, “More than a guy who makes pretty clothes.”

“Effie Trinket and the rest of the Capitol would disagree with you.”

Cinna smiled, “Effie Trinket is a sweet lady.”

“A sweet lady who enjoys her job of helping the Capitol kill children.”

“I understand why you would say that, but you need to better understand her. She still sees it as a game. She forces herself to see it that way. She uses pretending everything’s fine the same way you use alcohol.”

“What the hell do you know about either of us?”

“I know that she cares for you a great deal. When she ordered your clothes it was with more thought than most wives show their husbands.” Haymitch scowled, not believing a word of it. So Cinna took on Effie’s mannerisms and accent to quote her, “Don’t use any outrageous colors or pastels, he doesn’t like them. Oh, but be sure to use lots of blue, it brings out his eyes. We’re looking for more classically cut pieces, he doesn’t appreciate anything ornate.”

Haymitch nearly laughed at the impression. But he still shook his head, “She only cares because I’m usually standing next to her. It’s all about how she looks.”

Cinna shrugged, “Still, if it’s all the same to you, I’m going to request to be District 12’s stylist for the next games.”

Haymitch raised his glass, “Good luck. I guess if you put clothes on the kids, you’d be better than what we got now.”

Cinna chuckled and stood as if to leave, but then he bent over and whispered. “We need all the victors we can get. The Hunger Games are the key to this rebellion. They are used as a show of power, but they also infuriate the Districts the most. No one wants to send their children off to die. Victors are in the unique position of having both Capitol and District support. Capitol looks to you as role models and icons and the Districts see you as signs of hope, a child who managed to escape death.”

Cinna straightened. “Just think about it.” He smiled, “Hopefully, I’ll see you next year.”

It was strange, but against his better judgement, Haymitch decided that he liked the stylist.

 

* * *

 

Effie was buzzing around the suite as the tributes were down in the practice room. Haymitch mostly focused on his drinking and nibbling on a muffin. 

“Interviews are tomorrow, so we’ll have to prepare the tributes when they get back tonight. I wish we knew more about them. We could play them up as sexy considering their entrance in the parade. But then we don’t know how the stylists will be dressing them this time around. I should probably go see what they are up to, make sure they are dressed…appropriately.”

Haymitch interjected, “Just make sure they get clothes this time.”

Effie pursed her lips and glared at Haymitch, but she couldn’t disagree.

 

* * *

 

The interviews didn’t yield any interesting contenders, but Haymitch watched the girl from 7 closely. She was playing her part beautifully, eyes darting around as though she were terrified. She answered her questions with a raw vulnerability, stating over and over that “She just wanted to go home.” 

Haymitch couldn’t decide if it was all a lie, so he enlisted Effie’s help. “Did the escort for 7 mention anything about the girl to you?”

“Hmm?” Effie was still thinking about too simple black clothes they’d be sending their tributes out in. All that buzz at the parade would be wasted. She thought about Haymitch’s question before answering, “Well, I don’t particularly get along with that escort, as she’s always scheming and has a tendency to copy styles. Why just the other day, she…”

“Focus, Effie,” Haymitch interrupted. “Did she say anything about the girl tribute?”

Effie bristled at the rudeness of the interruption. But continued, “Actually, I did ask her if the crying was annoying, and she told me that the girl was quite rude in the privacy of their apartment. Always snapping at her, her mentor, and the boy. Someone should have taught her proper manners. It’s a shame the people of the Districts always seem to be lacking them…”

Effie continued, but Haymitch tuned her out.

 

* * *

 

Haymitch and Effie were alone in the suite, toasting their champagne before the games started. Haymitch wondered where their spies were since it seemed unlikely that President Snow decided to trust the District 12 team after one year. 

Effie didn’t seem to notice or care. She was babbling on about how older tributes might mean a victory this year. Haymitch ignored her and the look of distaste she gave him after he grabbed the rest of the champagne bottle to drink directly from it.

This year’s arena seemed to be split up like a star with each of the points representing different climates – a forest, a desert, a sea, some plains, and an artic section. Haymitch watched Johanna Mason more than his own tributes and wasn’t the least bit surprised that she ran for the trees at the sound of the buzzer.

The girl from 12 got confused as to where to run and took a spear through the chest, courtesy of one of the careers. Effie squealed at the image and grabbed Haymitch’s arm though he wasn’t sure why. The boy managed to make it out to the section closest to him, the desert.

Haymitch wasn’t looking forward to watching him dehydrate and die slowly.

 

* * *

 

The boy died on day three. There had been a cobra with tracker jacker venom, it hadn’t been pretty to watch. Effie dug her face into Haymitch’s shirt for most of it and he sat confused as to why he was letting her. 

She began to cry, which Haymitch took as a cue to get a new drink. He filled two glasses, silently handing one to her. She accepted without a fight and begin to drink it almost immediately.

Johanna Mason was still in the running. She hadn’t cried at all in the arena and was showing more skill than Haymitch had been expecting. Maybe Blight hadn’t been full of shit?

“Why do they keep dying, Haymitch?” Effie lifted her head up to ask.

Haymitch ignored her, but she kept asking, so he finally said, “Because it’s what they’re supposed to do. They are supposed to die. It’s what the Capitol wants.”

“The Capitol doesn’t want dead children,” Effie spat back. She finished her drink and got up to get a new one.

Haymitch raised an eyebrow at the escort’s uncharacteristic outburst. The stylists still weren’t around, but Haymitch was still uncomfortable about where this was heading. When she had her new drink she plopped down much closer to the mentor than he liked.

They sat and drank in silence for a while, until Effie started crying again. Haymitch reached for the remote, “Maybe we should turn this off for a while.”

Effie put her hand on his wrist. Her touch was warm and unexpected, and Haymitch almost dropped the damn remote. “No,” she said. “I want to see the whole thing. I want to see who wins.”

He returned to his drinking, getting up to fetch a bottle to place on the table before them to cut down on trips. She smiled at him, filling up her drink again. “You know, this was supposed to be my year. The escort from two was going to step down and I was going to rise up. But no.” She took a long pull. Johanna Mason appeared on screen and Effie pointed at her with her glass. “That bitch from 7 is going to take my spot. All because she got lucky and drew a winner at the right moment.” Effie glared at the tribute on the screen. “Girl’s even pretty when she’s not crying.” Effie slammed down the empty glass and poured another.

Haymitch grinned. He didn’t know Effie even had a side like this, but he quite liked it. He raised his glass for a toast and she obliged, clinking them together. She scooted closer to him, which Haymitch wasn’t so thrilled with. “You know, I blame the stylists. I mean, why would you send them out naked? It threw them completely off. You could tell. Neither of the kids were all that bad to begin with but they were nervous wrecks after the parade. You could tell the trust was gone.”

Haymitch said nothing. But Effie wormed her way into laying her head on his shoulder and looking up at him with bright blue eyes asked, “Does the pain ever stop?” She looked away. “I don’t know if I can handle anymore dead children.”

Unsure of what to do, Haymitch stayed still. He didn’t want to comfort her but hated being around crying women. The escort’s unabashed grief was bringing too many sour memories up for him. These were his 20th Games as mentor, which meant he’d laid 40 tributes to rest. He focused on his drinking.

Eventually he noticed that Effie was sleeping, and he noticed the puddle of drool forming on his shoulder. He grinned, that would be a great source of mockery in the upcoming months. But he stayed put, not wanting to wake her.

He wound up sleeping next to her on the couch.

 

* * *

 

They watched the final day of the Games together. Normally, Haymitch would abandon her to go out and get drunk with Chaff, but these games were different. He just couldn’t place his finger on what was different about them. 

That is until it was just Johanna Mason and the careers left.

Blight hadn’t been lying, the girl knew her way around an axe.

She had snuck up behind the career pack, taking one out with a hatchet to the head and then another with a hit on the chest. Of the three left, one tried to get an arrow off, but Johanna blocked it. She cut the third one down with a chop to the leg and the arrow person with a head shot. She finished off the one whose leg she had struck with a chop to the throat.

The fifth had bolted at this point. Johanna merely climbed the nearest tree, moving like a monkey. Just when the final career thought they were safe, Johanna swung down from a branch and finished off the pack.

Back on the ground and covered with spatters of blood, she glared at the camera and yelled, “Underdog wins. Was that entertaining enough for you? Now get me the hell out of here.”

Effie sat dumbfounded. Haymitch recognized the anger in the young girl’s voice and knew she was in a lot of trouble. Blight had been right. She needed a warning or her family would pay the price for her defiance.

Effie spoke up, interrupting Haymitch’s worried thoughts, “What do you think it’s like?”

“What?”

“Having a winner.”

It seemed an odd question at a time like this. He mocked her, “Oh, you’d get to go to so many parties.”

Effie bit her lip. “Yes. That would be nice, but I meant do you think we would be an effective team if we had someone who could actually win?” Haymitch turned serious and Effie continued. “I know you don’t respect me, but I don’t respect you, so that evens out. But what if we had a chance like 7 did this year, do you think we’d take it?”

“What brought this on?”

“We argue. You’re always drunk. I can’t do it all I’m afraid we would have killed Johanna.”

Haymitch stopped to think about this. It wasn’t usual for her to say anything meaningful. But he answered, “Yes, Effie. I think if we ever got a kid who was a fighter, we’d pull it together. Even if you think I’m a drunk and I think you’re annoying.”

“But you really are a drunk, Haymitch.”

“And you really are annoying, Effie.”

 

 

 

 

 


	10. Chapter 10

Haymitch was growing to hate Johanna Mason. Now that an outlying district had won a game, Effie was determined that they would be next. She called every day. It was mostly her talking while he drank, but he’d forgotten what regular human contact was like.

Every time he tried to interact with people here, he could fear the glares. They hated him for being a drunk and being their spokesperson each year. They resented him for his fortune and that he’d had the audacity not to die in the games like the rest of their tributes. They wanted him to somehow save their children, an impossible task.

If they knew how he spent his days that would hate him more. The fact that (if he was being honest with himself) his closest friend was a chatty escort from the Capitol would make them all think he’d sold out.

He hated the Capitol as much as them, possibly more, but his connection to it had broken his ties with them. He couldn’t deny where his clothes came from or that Effie kept him in the loop whether he wanted to be in it or not. He had one foot in District 12 and one foot in the Capitol – which left him with nowhere to stand.

The Victory Tour was set to begin tomorrow, with Johanna Mason visiting. Haymitch usually opted to stay in and drink himself to sleep for such public occasions since Effie wasn’t around to force him out of the house. But he was considering what Blight had asked him.

The more he saw of Johanna the more he knew the District 7 mentor was right – Johanna Mason was repeating the same mistakes he had made. She was outright hostile with anyone from the Capitol. And Haymitch knew when she had her little conversation with Snow at the end of the Tour, it would not go well.

She thought herself invincible, all victors did, for a time. Then Snow reminded them that they were still just Capitol pawns.

 

* * *

 

Haymitch still hadn’t decided what he was going to do the next day. He figured if he felt an unavoidable urge to go down to the square, he’d go and warn the little logger of the danger she was in. 

A knock on the door told him that he was going to have an unavoidable urge. The only person that had visited him in the last 10 years was Effie Trinket.

Haymtich swore at the intrusion and when he opened the door and saw Plutarch Heavensbee on his porch, he swore more. The gamemaker wore the same shit-eating grin he always seemed to have on. “You know, when one has a guest it’s customary to invite them in.” 

“What are you doing here?”

“The Capitol permits gamemakers to tour the districts with the Victory Tour. Gives us fresh ideas for the new arenas.” He held up a garment bag and an envelope, “Come on, Haymitch. I’ve brought gifts for you.”

“Neither of those is a bottle, so I’m not interested.”

The two men starred at each other a moment more, before Haymitch stepped aside with a sigh, no longer wanting to put up a fight. Plutarch stepped in and laid the garment bag carefully on the back of the couch, “Effie sends her regards along with your outfit for the Victory Ball.”

“I’m not going.”

“Nonsense.” Plutarch held out the envelope, “I’ve brought your train ticket as well. This ball should be the best one in years.”

The words hung heavy in the air, and Haymitch was smart enough to read between the lines. There was to be revolution meeting. He made no move to take the envelope.

Plutarch looked around Haymitch’s home, “Why don’t you hire one of the village women to clean this place, Haymtich?” He met the other man’s eyes. “I know you hate the fame and the blood money, but you might as well do something good with them since you have them anyway.”

Haymitch resented the advice, mostly because it was good. Plutarch ignored the glares and set the envelope down on the garment bag. “Johanna is going to be speaking in two hours, so you should get down to the mayor’s house in about an hour.” He left.

Haymitch picked up the envelope. Part of him wanted to tear it up and throw it into the fireplace. But he knew he wouldn’t. He set it back down. He had to go get dressed.

 

* * *

 

Haymitch brought the flask to his lips as he made his way to the mayor’s house. He replaced it in his jacket. He could see the crowd beginning to gather from here. He knew none of them gave a damn about Johanna Mason, but none of them were too proud to turn down free food. 

“Buttercup!”

Haymitch turned in the direction of the voice and saw a young girl chasing a cat. The cat appeared to be running right by him, so he grabbed it as it passed.

He heard another voice calling after the first, “Prim!”

The young blonde girl had caught up to the cat. He handed it out to her. “This yours?”

“Yes sir. Thank you.” She cuddled it for a moment before really looking at him, “Hey, you’re Haymitch Abernathy. The victor, right?”

Haymitch didn’t recognize the kid. That’s what happened when you pretty much cut yourself off from the rest of the humanity, he supposed.

The second voice had caught up now. Haymitch didn’t recognize the older girl either, but the way she put an arm around the younger girl, he guessed they were sisters. “Prim, get away from him.”

Oh yeah, this was why he avoided people in the Seam. They acted as though he was going to snatch up their kids and take them to the games, or that by having been in a game himself, he was now contagious and his mere presence could send them to their deaths. He mumbled, “You two should find your parents.” Before continuing his journey to the mayor’s house.

When he got there, he was nearly overwhelmed with the amount of activity. He looked for a familiar face, but without Effie’s outrageous outfit, it was harder than usual.

Then he caught sight of Blight. He nodded to the man, who waved him over. The other mentor whispered something in his victor’s ear before Haymitch reached them. He smiled politely and offered a hand, “Congratulations, Blight.”

“Thanks. Maybe it’ll be your turn next year. District 12 is due, just like we were.”

Haymitch said nothing. Blight took a moment to introduce him to Johanna. “Johanna Mason, this is Haymitch Abernathy, the Victor of District 12.”

“The drunk, right?” She extended a hand.

Haymitch took it. “Yeah.”

“Well, why don’t we go into one of the rooms where we can talk in private?”

Haymitch nearly rolled his eyes. Blight was a lot of things, but subtle wasn’t one of them. He led them to an empty room while Haymitch took another swig from his flask.

Johanna noticed. “What do you got there?”

“Whiskey.”

She held out her hand and Haymitch humored her. She threw some back and then nearly coughed it up again. “It tastes terrible.”

“You get used to it, kid.”

Alone now, Blight shut the doors and motioned for everyone to sit. Neither Johanna nor Haymitch did. He took a seat regardless and said, “I thought the two of you should have a chance to talk beforehand. So that Johanna can get a better idea of what it means to be a victor.”

She scoffed, but Haymitch realized that he was expected to speak now. “So I know you’re probably not going to listen to me. I wouldn’t have listened to me when I was standing in your shoes either, but that feeling that you’re untouchable now, it wears off. And you want that to happen sooner rather than later.”

“What are you talking about? I won their damn game.”

“The game’s not over. You were just some nobody kid in District 7 before, you’re a victor now. At the end of this tour President Snow is going to ask you to do something, and you’ll say yes.”

“No,” she responded automatically. “No, I won’t. I’m nobody’s puppet.”

“You have family don’t you? What do you think happens to them if you say no?”

“I would kill anyone who tries to touch them,” Johanna growled.

Haymitch could feel the frustration in him building, he wanted another drink. “The Games was about as fair as the Capitol plays. Don’t you get that? You aren’t going to get a chance to defend them.”

“Why would I listen to a drunk like you? I’m leaving.” She stood.

“I’m trying to help you not to become a drunk like me.”

Johanna didn’t seem to hear, and Blight couldn’t stop her, calling after her to no affect.

Haymitch took a much needed sip from his flask. At least he could say that he tried. He tested the weight for what he had left in it. Bitch took more than a sip of his whiskey.

 

* * *

 

The speech and feast were as tedious as Haymitch expected, and he left early for more booze. It seemed like he wasn’t in the house for five minutes before the phone rang. “Haymitch?” 

Or course it was Effie Trinket. He reached for another bottle. “What is it Effie?”

“You’re coming to the ball this year, right? Plutarch said you were.”

Haymitch was growing to hate that man. He looked over at the envelope that was still resting on the garment bag. He said nothing.

“Haymitch? Haymitch, are you coming or not because I really want to wear my new outfit!” Effie whined.

“Mine doesn’t match yours, does it?”

“No. Do you think it should have? Wait, does this mean you’re coming?”

“I don’t think we need to match.” He hung up on her, still not answering if he’d come to the ball.

But he knew he was going to go. If just to see how one arranges a rebellion meeting right under the President’s nose.

 

* * *

 

Effie wasn’t as excited as she knew she should be. She longed to go to this party every year, but with the District 7 mentor being celebrated this year…it wasn’t fair. She hated that woman, who didn’t have half of the class and style Effie did. Still, Haymitch was coming, which meant she’d be able to go to the social event of the season. What did it matter who the guest of honor was? 

Still, as she walked into the hotel to pick up Haymitch, she wasn’t as giddy as she had been the very first time. She didn’t bother trying his room, instead opting to go directly to the bar.

She found him almost immediately, hunched over a drink. She eschewed her normal politeness as she took the seat next to him. “How drunk are you?”

“Not very.” His eyes hadn’t moved from the amber liquid below him.

“Well, that’s unusual.” She didn’t move to sit, just watched Haymitch swirl his whiskey.

They sat in silence for a moment, but Effie grew uncomfortable quickly. “You’re not being your usual rude self.”

“I’m thinking.”

Effie scoffed, which made Haymitch scowl. She realized she wasn’t being fair and tried again. “What are you thinking about?”

“Stuff.”

He always such a font of conversation. She wanted to rush him out of the bar and to the party, but he was acting so out of character, she was actually worried about him. She fell back on gossip. “Rumor has it Snow will be announcing a new head gamemaker.”

Surprisingly, Haymitch actually seemed interested. “Who?”

“Well, I’ve heard Seneca Crane.”

“The beard guy?”

Effie wished she could explain there was nothing wrong with being fashionable and Haymitch could learn a thing or two from Seneca Crane. But she knew it was better just to say, “Yes.”

Haymitch finished his drink in one swallow. “Well, let’s go.”

Oddly, Effie made no move to leave despite the fact that Haymitch was standing and putting on his coat. He stopped. “Effie?”

Effie called the bartender over. She ordered two shots of their finest tequila. When the bartender came over with them, Haymitch moved to take one, but Effie snatched it out of his hand. “If you wanted some you should have ordered your own.” She threw both of them back.

She stood, straightening out her dress. “Now we go. I’m ready to face that smug bitch.”

Haymitch laughed. “Effie, I like this side of you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Anger is a very unattractive thing.”

“On the right person, it’s sexy as hell.”

Effie almost corrected him on his behavior, but decided she didn’t mind if Haymitch thought she was sexy. She would examine later why that was when her head wasn’t pleasantly fuzzy.

 

* * *

 

The party was crowded. Haymitch noticed there were more victors here than usual. He even ran into Chaff at the bar, who he was now getting drunk with. Effie came over, a drink in hand. Chaff leered at her and Haymitch wasn’t sure his face didn’t match. She giggled and nearly fell into Haymitch’s lap. “Did you see Finnick dancing with Johanna? I smell a new romance.” She finished her drink, setting the empty glass on the bar.

Haymitch signaled the bartender to bring a new one. He doubted that Finnick was interested in Johanna. He still remembered the last games and how the boy acted around Annie. He handed the fresh glass to Effie, “Miss Trinket, I do believe you’re drunk.”

“Please, after the amount of times I’ve seen you drunk.” She stopped and let out a very unladylike burp. She covered her mouth with a gloved hand. “Excuse me.”

Even trashed, Effie Trinket didn’t forget her manners. Once she finished her drink, Haymitch stood up, bringing her with him. “Come on. I’ll take you home.”

Effie pouted but didn’t protest. Haymitch said good-bye to Chaff and began to walk Effie out of the door. They walked a few blocks before Effie groaned and stopped. Haymitch was prepared for her to barf, but instead she bent over and removed her shoes. Heels in hand she took Haymitch’s arm with her free hand. She began to babble, “You know I love this part of the city. I only wish I could afford to live here. You know my favorite stylist’s shop is right down that street.” She pointed but Haymitch was beginning to tune her out.

He’d expected Plutarch to contact him or something to happen. Maybe he’d misread the signals, maybe the secret meeting was all in his head.

Effie interrupted his thoughts. “How are you walking so well? Aren’t you drunk?”

He smirked at her pout. “Yes, but see, I’m a functional alcoholic.”

She nodded though he wondered if she really understand. They arrived at her building and she entered the code to her apartment. He tried to walk away, but she tightened her grip on his arm, forcing him to follow her into the elevator.

If he was being honest, he was kind of curious what Effie’s place looked like. He imagined a lot of crystal and over-the-top furniture. They exited the elevator. There were only two apartments to each floor and Effie went left. Haymitch followed.

She entered another code and the door whished open. She went in, but Haymitch stayed in the hall. She threw her heels near the door and turned on a light.

Haymitch saw that it wasn’t as over-the-top as he expected. Her furniture appeared to be vintage or at least took after vintage designs. There was a crystal chandelier with lights that changed colors, but it wasn’t as gaudy as he expected. He didn’t hate it.

She noticed he hadn’t followed her. “Don’t stand in the doorway, Haymitch. It’s rude.”

He thought it would be ruder to enter without an invitation but didn’t want to get into an argument. He closed the door behind him. Effie went to fetch some drinks without asking if he wanted one. He supposed it was a safe assumption to make. She returned with something fuzzy in a flute. She held up the glass for a toast. “To our future victor.”

Haymitch agreed, “To the kid who doesn’t die.”

They both finished in one drink. Effie made no move to refill their glasses, and Haymitch realized she was staring at him. “Effie?”

“You know you’d actually be quite attractive if you were clean and sober.”

“How drunk are you, Effie?”

“Drunk enough to tell you that I used to have such a crush on you.” She stepped closer. “Drunk enough to tell you that it’s been too long since I had a man in my bed.”

Haymitch’s pants were suddenly too tight. He had to get out of here. No good would come from him staying. Yet his legs didn’t seem to get the very good advice his brain was giving them. It turned out he was drunk enough to reply, “I know the feeling.”

Effie smiled and Haymitch could almost see the real person peeking out from the mounds of make-up. Which is what he blamed his next action on.

He kissed her.

It really had been too long. She responded immediately, wrapping her arms around his neck. One of his hands tangled in her wig and the other gripped her ass. He bent her back and deepened the kiss.

It had been way too long.

He hated the taste of lipstick, but he’d been with enough Capitol women to know it came off soon enough. But before he could go any further, a buzzing sound reached his ears. He broke away, trying to determine if it was just a side effect of the kiss.

No, he could feel it too at his right side.

His mind was working slowly, especially as Effie was now nibbling on his chin. But his hand eventually made its way to his jacket pocket. He was surprised to find that there was something in there. He hadn’t put it there.

He pulled it out. It looked like a communicator. He pushed the blinking button. A dissembled voice announced, “Now. In the gamemaker’s room.”

That was a ballsy move, holding the meeting right under Snow’s nose in the building where the victors stayed every year. Effie had stopped kissing him. “What’s that?”

“Nothing.” Haymitch kissed her check. “But I have to go.”

Effie’s brow furrowed. “Why?” She began kissing his neck again.

Haymitch put his hands on her hips. For a wild moment he thought about bringing her closer and ignoring the message, ignoring the revolution, but he couldn’t do it. He kept her still and took a step back. “You’re drunk. You would hate me in the morning. We work together. It would be a mistake.”

She looked saddened but didn’t protest. “I suppose you’re right.”

He took his hands off her, not sure how to leave gracefully. Effie was better at this crap. He said, “You should drink some water, take an aspirin and go to bed.”

She nodded but shuffled over to her couch instead. She plopped down.

With nothing else to say or do, Haymitch left. 

 

* * *

 

Haymitch had nearly run over. He’d vigorously been wiping at his mouth, but in a strange coincidence there had been no reflective surfaces to check that he’d gotten all of Effie’s lipstick off of his mouth. 

When he got to the building, he saw Chaff outside. He wondered if he had been waiting for him.

Chaff confirmed it with, “You’re late.”

“Sorry,” Haymitch grumbled.

Both men entered and in the elevator, Haymitch couldn’t help but sense his friend was far too amused for a secret rebellion meeting. “What?”

“Just never pegged you as the kind of guy who fucks his escort.”

“I’m not.”

“That lipstick says otherwise.”

Haymitch scrubbed at his lips again.

The door opened. Chaff clarified, “I meant the lipstick on your collar.”

Haymitch checked and yep, there on his shirt collar was a burst of bright pink. He did his best to tuck it under his jacket.

They entered the room and Haymitch was surprised at the amount of people in the room. At least half of the victors were here. Even more surprising to Haymitch was the other half of people who were clearly Capitol folk, including several stylists.

Plutarch snuck up behind him, “Have trouble finding the place, Haymitch?”

“Just surprised you’ve got the balls to do this tonight.”

“It’s the best time. Everyone is too busy celebrating at the Victor’s Ball. All the hard work of the games, we must unwind.” He smiled, “Still I changed the code temporarily just in case.” Plutarch signaled someone and everyone began to take their seats.

Haymitch sat between Chaff and Plutarch. Across from him was Finnick. The kid almost looked haunted though it did nothing to lessen his good looks. Haymitch was surprised the difference a year could make. He wondered what hell Snow was putting the kid through.

He suspected it had something to do with Annie.

Haymitch tugged at his collar again, making sure the lipstick mark was hidden.

Plutarch stood up, “I called you all here tonight for one reason. Rebellion. Snow has controlled us all for too long. I want you all to know that you are not alone. I want you to see that others agree with you. I want you to meet the woman who will help free us from Snow.” He held out a hand. “Please meet President Alma Coin.”

Haymitch’s first impression of the woman was that she appeared cold, stern and had no sense of fun. He didn’t like her.

She smiled, but not warmly, “Good evening. I want to commend you on the risk everyone in this room is taking by being here.”

They were the right words, but she didn’t insert any of the charisma a leader needed. Haymitch glanced over to Plutarch, whose face was too neutral to not be hiding something.

Alma Coin then said, “The next games is when we will begin our attack.”

The room erupted in whispers. Haymitch heard a few snippets that included “not ready,” “should we trust her,” and “we should wait.”

Plutarch was the one to respond. “Now everyone, we don’t know that for sure yet.” Plutarch leaned over to whisper to Coin, but Haymitch was close enough to hear, “I’m not head gamemaker yet. We need to wait until all the pieces fall together just right.” He said to the group, “We all know that Panem is prime for a revolution, but we won’t get two chances at this. It has to be done right.”

Someone at the other end of the room that Haymitch didn’t recognize said, “You know what I said. We’ll need a symbol. A victor to rally behind.”

“Yes,” Coin agreed. “Our symbol will be Johanna Mason.” She looked to Blight. “A victor from one of the outlying districts. She’ll work.”

No one seemed like they were going to contradict this terrible idea, so Haymitch interjected, “I agree that you need a symbol. I agree that person will probably be a victor. But Johanna Mason is not that person.” He pointed to Plutarch, who looked amused. “You talked about the pieces falling into place. Well, you can’t pound Johanna into a space she’s just not meant for. She’s too angry to be a symbol. You need someone inspiring.”

Coin scowled at him. “Why should we listen to the drunk from District 12?”

Plutarch spoke up now. “Haymitch won a Quarter Quell with twice the amount of tributes, and he has outlived more tributes than any other victor; he has suffered under Snow’s reign more than most.”

Haymitch was uncomfortable with the attention now focused on him, but he spoke again, “Listen, you can’t manufacture a revolution. It has to happen naturally.”

Coin didn’t quite roll her eyes, but her expression was withering. “Revolutions have only happened with dedicated people planning. Are you suggesting that we shouldn’t try to plan how to rebel? Just let it happen naturally.”

“No. You can fan the flames, but the spark is going to be something you can’t foresee. Just be ready.”

“Johanna is are spark.” Coin looked like she was going to ignore him.

But Haymitch persisted. He wouldn’t give up, not now that he was realizing he actually cared. “Johanna isn’t likeable. She’s rude, angry and opinioned. You can’t market that.”

Coin ignored him, but Plutarch asked, “Why would marketing be so important?”

Plutarch should know the answer to that, Haymitch realized. He wondered if this wasn’t the first time Coin was hearing this argument. Haymitch said, “Let me put it another way. Johanna’s like a shot of whiskey…”

Coin interrupted, “We don’t drink in District 13.”

No wonder you’re such a bitch then, Haymitch thought. What he said was “That’s sucks for you. What I’m saying is Johanna is a burn down the throat, a good burn, but some people are going to need a chaser. She needs to be softened up.”

Blight said, “She has a brother.”

“What’s he like? Nice boy?”

“No, he’s basically Johanna without boobs.”

“So we still have nothing.”

Coin, feeling the meeting was getting out her control, shut the conversation down, “It doesn’t matter. Johanna Mason will be the head of our revolution. Discussion over.”

Haymitch still said, “It’s a mistake. It’s a game. And take it from a victor, if you don’t play it perfectly, you’re dead.” Finished talking and frustrated, Haymitch stood up and left.

Plutarch followed him out. “What are you doing?”

Haymitch stopped, he stared at a camera in the corner and lowered his voice out of habit more than fear. “I’m all for a rebellion, but how you’re going about it? It’s not going to work.”

“Why not?”

“You can’t just decide that people are unhappy and ready to rebel. The people will show you. Events will happen.”

“Events are happening.”

“Like what? I want a specific example. Was there a riot? Did production shut down somewhere? Did anything happen that would trigger a universal memory that would outrage anyone?”

Plutarch tried to speak but could come up with nothing. He switched gears, “What do you suggest? That we wait? People are dying, suffering, more every day under Snow.”

The words pained Haymitch, but he knew they were the right ones, “Yes, we have to wait.”

“Wait for what?”

“The people are unhappy, but they don’t have any hope. They need that ray of defiance and getting away with it.”

“Kind of like your games?”

Haymitch didn’t get away with it though. He said nothing, but Plutarch nodded and then breathed out a laugh. “What we really need is another District 12 winner, Haymitch.”

“Well, that’s not going to happen.”

“I think it will. I think our revolution will begin in your District, Haymitch.”

 


	11. Chapter 11

Effie groaned as she woke up. She could hear her head throbbing, which wasn’t normal. She also found that she hadn’t made it to her bed. Her neck was sore from sleeping on the couch.

That’s when she remembered what happened last night and what she’d almost done and who she’d almost done it with.

She groaned again. She knew she’d never hear the end of that from him. She didn’t mock him for the stupid stuff he did drunk, didn’t that give her some form of absolution?

It shouldn’t matter. She wouldn’t see him again until the next reaping. He should be on the train back to District 12 by now. She would stop calling him. They could strategize separately….somehow.

She knew that was just wishful thinking. He’d do nothing except continue his mission to drink himself to death. It was often partly why she called, to make sure he wasn’t dead, having drowned in his own vomit because he hadn’t slept on his side that night.

As if her thoughts had summoned him, her phone rang. Effie dived to put her head back under pillows, away from the loud, shrill sound now invading her apartment. But it didn’t stop, and she realized it wasn’t her phone, but her video phone that was ringing at her.

Even better, she was certain she looked a mess and had no time to fix it. She dug herself out and got up to answer it, trying to straighten her wig and smooth out the wrinkles that had formed in her dress.

She wiped off her lipstick completely to hid the fact that it was smudged by more than a pillow,

Effie dreaded who might be on the other line. It could be that bitch of an escort from Seven, ‘checking in on her to see if she got home safe’ and letting her know that she’d officially been promoted to District Two. Effie took a deep breath and clicked on Answer. “Hello?”

It wasn’t Seven’s escort. No. It was much worse.

It was Effie Trinket’s mother. “Euphemia. Why on earth do you look such a fright? Didn’t I teach you better than that? One must always have on their best face to great the world.”

“Yes, mother.”

“And why did it take you so long to answer? Such a thing is rude, Euphemia.”

“Yes, mother.” Effie contemplated how rude it would be for her to sneak out of the room to grab some aspirin and water. Too rude, she decided.

“Euphemia, your sister is coming with me to lunch today and since it’s been so long since I’ve seen you, I thought you could join us. Perhaps for a little shopping afterwards as well?”

Usually a request like this would delight Effie, but she glanced at the clock. She would never have time to properly make herself up in order to meet her family at lunch. She smiled, “I would love to, mother, but today I’m afraid I’m just too swamped.”

“Dinner than perhaps? That might be better, just you and me.”

Effie didn’t know how it would be better without the buffer of her sister, but she smiled and agreed, “That would be lovely.”

“I’ll call you with the details later. I’m sure Penelope will be able to recommend a good place. Her husband is so successful, after all.”

Effie needed aspirin desperately though she now wished for coffee instead of water. “I’m sure she would know a good place to eat.”

“Well, au revior, my dear.”

“Good-bye, mother.”

As soon as the screen turned back to black Effie ran for the bathroom. She swallowed two tablets and then drew herself a bath. She needed to be calmed and relaxed before meeting her mother.

It was the only way she could possibly survive the encounter.

 

* * *

 

The train ride home for Haymitch was bound to be longer than usual. Plutarch’s words, everything that had come out of the meeting, still hung in his head. At least he hadn’t gotten as drunk as usual so he wasn’t battling a hangover on top of everything else.

Though that hadn’t stopped him from ordering a bloody mary as soon as he got on the train.

Haymitch still couldn’t get over the gloriously bad idea of making Johanna Mason the face of the revolution. No one was going to rally behind her. She didn’t invoke any feelings besides anger, which radiated off her. It wasn’t a bad feeling, but he knew they needed more, they needed something far more powerful than anger.

They needed hope.

The people of the districts had been angry for years, but nothing got done. How could it? The Capitol was too powerful. No one could stand against it. They needed someone who defied the Capitol and got away with it. Johanna was defying the Capitol all right, but she hadn’t gotten away with it. Not yet. He suspected she wouldn’t get away with it, just like him.

Haymitch finished his drink and went for another. Thinking Johanna made him think of President Coin of District 13. His mind still was struggling with the idea of District 13 being alive and well. While he supposed they would need all the help they could get, he couldn’t help but wonder where the hell the other district had been for the last 70 years. Why were they bothering now?

Something wasn’t adding up, or more precisely he felt that he was looking at a half-finished puzzle with too many pieces missing for him to get a clear picture.

He removed the stalk of celery the bartender had added, which just got in the way of his drinking. Finally his thoughts settled where he hadn’t wanted them to: he’d nearly slept with Effie Trinket.

He took a long drag of his bloody mary. He had never been the type to sleep with his escort. Chaff had had a couple of his, and he knew several other victors with similar stories. But Haymitch had always kept his Capitol women encounters limited to one night stands with strangers. He was loathe to admit it, but if it hadn’t been for Plutarch’s interruption, he would have woken up in Effie’s bed this morning.

So what made Effie Trinket any different from any of the other escorts?

Well, the last one hadn’t been a day under 65 no matter how much her plastic surgeon tried to cover up the fact. The one before that had been a man. The one before that had been a pretty, young female who was also one of the worst people he’d ever met. In fact, he personally blamed her for turning his drunken state during the hunger games into a year-round habit.

Maybe that was just it, she was the first one in recent memory who actually qualified as someone he would sleep with. He took another drink.

He did not want to think about this. He just wanted to stop thinking for a while. With this goal in mind, Haymitch settled in the bar car and told the bartender that he should never have an empty glass in his hand, and it may actually be easier on everyone if he just left a bottle at the table. 

He didn’t remember the rest of the ride home.

 

* * *

 

Effie knew she looked flawless, but couldn’t stop fidgeting with everything. First she checked that her wig was still in place. Then she made sure that her earrings hadn’t inadvertently fallen off. And then she adjusted her skirt.

She thought about checking her make up in the spoon’s reflection but knew that would be the moment her mother arrived at their table.

Before she had a chance to convince herself it would be worth an unnecessary trip to the bathroom to check her appearance one more time, her mother arrived. “Euphemia!”

Effie smiled and stood to hug her mother, “Mother.”

They hugged and kissed the air beside each other’s cheeks. They sat down. Effie’s mother looked over her carefully. “Euphemia, isn’t that design from last year’s collection?”

Effie knew she should have worn her newest outfit. “Yes, mother, but it’s still one of my favorites.”

Effie’s mother pursed her lips, “I see.”

The server arrived, asking for drink orders. Effie’s mother asked for a water with a lemon in it. Effie asked for a scotch, straight up.

“Euphemia,” her mother scolded as the waiter walked away. “It’s not very ladylike to drink.”

“Oh mother, it’s perfectly acceptable to drink alcohol in a social setting like this.”

Effie’s mother didn’t look convinced, but also didn’t push the topic further. Effie already knew what she would be ordering, but looked over the menu like she had no idea. “They say the fish here is great. They fly it in directly from District Four to ensure maximum freshness.”

Effie’s mother nodded, ignoring her daughter in favor of her menu.

Effie chattered on, “You know, the escort from Four told me once that when they hosted the victor’s meal, they served a blowfish that was so hard to prepare that only people in that district can do it. It’s not found in the Capitol because if the wrong part is cut it’s deadly. She said that it was fine though since it tasted so gummy.”

The server returned with their drinks and took their orders. Effie’s mother ordered a salad and looked disapprovingly when Effie ordered fish over brown rice. Effie had thought her light order would please her mother.

She took a long drink from her scotch.

Effie’s mother said, “You know I don’t like when you talk about your games. I would much prefer to see you married and happy.”

“I am happy, mother.”

“Pish posh. You have no husband, no children, you couldn’t possibly understand happiness. It was cute to dream about gaining fame from the games when you were a kid, but I’d hoped you would have outgrown such delusions by now.”

“I’m living my dream, mother. I am an escort after all. A lot of people in the Capitol know who I am because of my job. I get to go to some fabulous parties and meet lots of interesting and powerful people.”

“And would any of these powerful people marry you?” Effie had no response. “I just want to see you happy. I just want to see you married and settled.”

“There will be time for that later, mother. I’m focused on my career right now. One must strike while the iron is hot.” And so am I, Effie added in her mind.

Her mother knew what she was thinking, “You’ll waste your good looks on your so-called career and then be doomed to live your life alone. I mean, really, Euphemia, when is the last time you were even on a date?”

Haymitch kissing her flashed through Effie’s mind. “Mother, this is not appropriate dinner conversation.”

“It is perfectly appropriate. I don’t want my daughter to end up an old maid. I’m not going to be around forever, Euphemia. I want to make sure you’re taken care of.”

“I’m fine, mother. I make plenty to take care of myself and even own my condo.”

“But who will take care of you? Who will comfort you when you need it? Who will you grow old with?”

Haymitch flashed through her mind again, but Effie couldn’t understand why. Luckily, their food arrived, saving her from thinking on it and coming up with an answer for her mother. Effie lifted her nearly empty glass, signaling for a fresh one. She ate her food slowly and carefully as her mother had taught her. The new drink arrived almost immediately.

Her mother’s lips were pursed again, “You drink too much, Euphemia. I’m afraid those victor’s awful manners are rubbing off on you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, mother.”

“Well, let’s talk about your career then.” Effie wished she had asked for a double with her new drink. “How is your career any more than baby-sitting a drunk on national television? That district will never win a game, and your best chance for just passed you by. You’ll lose your looks before another opening happens.”

Effie thought of Caeser Flickerman’s plastic surgery. She wouldn’t need to age either. Effie smiled, “Just you wait mother, District 12 may surprise you yet.”

Effie’s mother continued to scowl. “You should put your looks to better use. I know this nice boy. He owns a wig shop. Think of the money you’ll save with the discount he’ll be sure to give you.”

Effie remembered the last man her mother had tried to set her up with. While Augustus had become a dear friend, he’d been gayer than a daffodil. “I don’t need your help finding men, mother.”

“You do need it though.” Effie’s mother softened, knowing that was too harsh. “You should never turn down help, Euphemia. You clearly aren’t going to be dating anyone suitable. The closest thing you have to a man in your life is that drunk.”

“It will happen when it happens, mother. I don’t want to force love.”

Her mother rolled her eyes. “Your second marriage can be for love. Your first one should be for position and money.”

Effie wanted to ask her mother if her marriage to her father had been about that. She wanted to fling in her face that despite all her musings on Effie’s life, her mother had been married and was still alone in her old age. So really did it matter that much? Effie said none of that, focusing instead on her tiny pieces of fish.

 

* * *

 

Haymitch entered his house, still drunk from the train. He collapsed on the couch since it was nearer than his bed and waited for Effie’s call. She always called shortly after he came home to check on him and share all of the gossip that had emerged from the party. 

As though he cared.

An hour later, she still hadn’t called. Not that Haymitch cared, but it was annoying. He didn’t want to fall asleep only for her to call then. He wondered what had happened to her. She was all about schedules. Always called him ten minutes after he arrived home.

Not that he cared. He wasn’t worried about what may have happened to her. Didn’t like talking with her on the phone anyway. He didn’t care that she hadn’t called like she always did.

He flipped over onto his back. He thought about their last interaction. She was probably embarrassed. That had to be it. Effie wasn’t exactly brave; she probably would avoid him for a long time, save herself from the grief he was sure to give her.

Haymitch thought about going upstairs and sleeping in his proper bed, but it seemed like too much effort.

He didn’t know how long he’d slept, but the phone did wake him up. He knew it. Of course she would call at the least convenient time possible. He grumbled, feeling a hangover coming and looked for a bottle to starve it off as he answered the phone with a gruff, “Hello.”

“Haymitch,” it wasn’t Effie’s voice. Haymitch was so surprised he forgot his mission to find a bottle and stood there for a moment, staring at nothing.

His brain finally caught up and placed the voice immediately. It was Plutarch Heavensbee. “What do you want?”

“I just thought you might like to know that there was a fire in Seven. Johanna’s home town was completely destroyed. But don’t worry, luckily, the victor was still in the Capitol. Unfortunately, everyone she knew is now dead.”

Haymitch spotted a bottle. “Yeah, lucky her.” It was worse than what they had done to him. They’d just killed those closest to him, not everyone he knew. He hung up the phone, not caring what else Plutarch might say. He went out to his porch and looked down at the lights of the Seam.

If he’d been just a little more defiant, they could all be dead now. Despite the chill in the air, Haymitch remained on his porch, drinking his hangover away and looking down on the light glow of the Seam.

 

* * *

 

Penelope came over the next day with her daughter for a visit. Effie loved seeing her niece, as she had always been fond of children. Her love of children was part of the reason she’d become an escort. She now realized her lying skills served her far better than her skills with children in her job. 

Penelope asked, “So how bad was it?”

Effie shook her head, throwing another toy for her niece to grab. “You are so lucky to have a husband and child to head her off.”

Penelope snorted, “Please. I’ll never have your looks or success. We could both learn to walk on water and she’d still wonder why we couldn’t fly.”

Effie chuckled. Her sister asked, “So any good gossip from the Victor’s Ball?”

“Oh Penny, so much. I’m pretty sure there’s something going on between Finnick Odair and Johanna Mason.”

“Really,” Penelope looked surprised. “I heard there might be something going on with you and your victor.”

Effie stiffened. “What?”

“Oh it’s nothing. It’s just Orion heard from Cicero that you left the party with Haymitch Abernathy, looking quite friendly. Did something happen between you two?”

Yes. “Don’t be ridiculous. He was drunk, as usual, and I was just making sure he made it back to his hotel. We arrived together as well, but no one talks about that.”

Penelope shrugged. “It’s just what Orion heard.”

“Well, there’s no truth to it. The things people come up with.” Effie laughed dismissively.

The conversation continued, but Effie’s eyes kept drifting to the spot where something had happened between her and Haymitch. She just hoped Penny didn’t notice.

 

* * *

 

Two weeks before the next reaping, Haymitch received notice that District 12 could expect new stylists again this year. He figured that meant that he was off the spy list. He wondered if his stylists had been ‘promoted’ to District 7. He hadn’t heard much about Johanna since Plutarch’s phone call, but he guessed that the rebellion had been put on hold due to whatever her reaction was. He couldn’t imagine it was a good one.

Haymitch had almost been expecting to receive notice about a new escort as well. He hadn’t talked to Effie since the Victor’s Ball. It was strange, but he was glad to know he’d be seeing her soon.

He brushed it off as wanting to give her crap over their almost liaison though it may be too late to tease her about it now. Wouldn’t work around the kids anyway.

The box of new clothes had arrived as well. He looked through it, but not closely. He hadn’t seen anything to give him cause to worry.

Effie was getting good at the whole dressing him thing.

He moved nothing, leaving the boxes in his front doorway and the torn envelope on the floor. The mess stayed there until Reaping Day.

For once, Haymitch was actually ready. He was dressed in mostly clean clothes and almost sober. He was waiting (though he thought of it as only drinking) to see if Effie would show up at his house like she did most years, or if he wouldn’t see her until the train.

The rapid knock on his door gave him his answer. He smiled, not going to actually open the door. She could come to him.

A feminine voice called out, “Mr. Abernathy.”

Damn. It wasn’t Effie. He stood and looked at the girl Effie had sent in her place. He recognized her but couldn’t think of the kid’s name; she was the mayor’s daughter.

He saw the frightened look in the poor child’s eyes. At first he thought it was directed at him as though he might hurt her, but then he realized what it was. It was Reaping Day, and this girl’s name was in the bowl more than once.

Haymitch silently cursed Effie’s cowardice. This kid had enough on her mind today. She didn’t need to be tracking down the town drunk. The kid, unnerved by his silent musing, spoke again, “Mr. Abernathy, it’s almost time for the reap…for the reaping.”

Haymitch nodded. He had no words of comfort for the poor kid, he could only follow her without protest. Poor thing didn’t need any more to deal with today.

Haymitch wanted to remember this feeling. This was the feeling that could start a revolution. The anger at the unfairness of it all, the despair that there was nothing he could do to stop it, and most dangerous of all, the hope that Effie wouldn’t pick this name out of the bowl.

 


	12. Chapter 12

Effie was surprised that the girl had actually been able to fetch Haymitch. "Thank you, Madge."

The girl said nothing, going off to join the other girls. Effie looked at Haymitch; he didn't appear to be too drunk. His collar was popped up, so she walked over and smoothed it down.

While she was close, Haymitch grinned. "Hello stranger."

Effie smiled shyly back, "Sorry I haven't called. It's been crazy busy in the Capitol."

"Don't apologize, Effie. I really don't like it when you call anyway."

Effie wondered how true that was, but he seemed more sincere now than he usually was. She decided not to question this behavior, as it was certainly better than usual. She tried to think of something to say. "Everyone in the Capitol is still talking about Johanna and her surprise victory. You know how well an underdog story goes over. If we get a victor this year, it would cause the twice the buzz." She leaned in, feeling comfortable again, "We may even manage a few sponsors this year. The ones who bet on Johanna are still bragging about their skills. So everyone's hoping to predict the next victor from an outlaying district this year."

Haymitch didn't appear to hear anything she said. Effie sighed. Yep, everything was back to normal now.

They waited in silence for the peacekeepers to escort them on stage. But this year, the peacekeepers held up a hand to Haymitch. She was just as confused as he looked. He didn't put up a fight though. She went with the peacekeepers, which brought her up a flight of stairs. She wondered where they were going.

They came to a heavy wooden door and knocked once. A voice inside called out in answer, "Come in."

Effie entered and gasped at the sight of President Snow. What was he doing here? Unsure of the proper way to react, Effie curtsied. "Mr. President."

He chuckled, amused by her reaction. "There's no need for such formalities, Miss Trinket." He extended a hand. "Please, have a seat."

The peacekeepers had shut the doors behind them, leaving her alone. She wasn't sure why that made her so nervous. She did as she was told.

President Snow walked over to the window. "What do you know about District 12, Miss Trinket?"

She crossed her legs, bringing the left one in front of her right. "It's the coal district."

When she added nothing else, the President pressed, "Nothing else. You've been their escort for five years now. Do you know anything else?"

Effie knew that the tributes ate like savages but fought like children. She knew that Haymitch, its sole victor, was a severely depressed, and extremely uncultured, but ultimately good, man. She knew that the parents of dead tributes had never reacted to a coffin with anything but a door slam. She knew that she never left this district feeling happy and could only imagine the despair that would overwhelm her if she'd ever be forced to live here. Which, she guessed, was how its residents did feel every day.

It was the first time such a thought had ever crossed her mind.

"Miss Trinket?"

Effie snapped out of her thoughts. How could she possibly be rude at time like this? With the most powerful man in Panem no less. "I have no ties to the district really, Mr. President. I don't know any more than it's the coal district."

President Snow nodded. He took a seat behind the massive oak desk in front of her. She felt tiny in the mahogany chair before him. "Well, let me enlighten you then. District 12 produces, on average, 500 tons for the Capitol each year. Recently, the coal production in the district has been slowing. In fact, last year, production was down to 350 tons. Obviously this cannot continue."

Effie nodded in agreement, wondering how any of this was relevant to her. The President continued, "The main reason for the disruption is a man named Nathan Martin. He has been inciting his workforce, which has led to many problems. He has been lucky enough to survive a cave in this year. A very lucky man indeed."

The President stopped here. Effie grew more uncomfortable in the silence, but knew better than to interrupt the President. He continued, "Nathan Martin has a son, 15 years old."

Horrified, Effie realized how this related to her. She silently begged to be mistaken. Begged to whatever powers may have more influence than President Snow that he wouldn't speak the words. She struggled to keep the emotion from her face.

The President said, "The child's name is Ash Martin, and I would be grateful, the entire Capitol would be grateful, Miss Trinket, if his was the only name was the only name in the bowl this year."

Effie forced a smile, "Well, we'll have to see if the odds are in his favor this year. It's a random drawing after all."

Snow returned her smile, standing. "It's good to see that you have such strong principles, Miss Trinket. Your father had them too." He stopped right in front her. "It's a shame what happened to him. I don't know how your family would handle another such devastating loss."

Effie's heart was beating at twice its normal rate. She knew what he was saying, knew the correct answer, but her eyes searched the room as if looking for a way out. Her hands tightened on the folds of her skirt.

"Do understand what I'm saying, Miss Trinket?"

"Absolutely sir."

"Wonderful." He smiled and returned to the window, waving a dismissal to her. Effie rose slowly, her knees weak. She was worried they wouldn't be able to carry her weight.

As she left, Snow added, "Also, let's keep this talk just between us."

"Of course." Effie forced a smile.

She was getting good at that.

 

* * *

 

Haymtich was on her almost instantly, "What was…"

Before he could finish his question, more peacekeepers appeared and escorted them to the stage. Effie was still struggling to find her happy face. Still struggling not to cry because of what had been asked of her. She had to make it through this without betraying any emotion that she wouldn't show any other year. Everything had to appear to be the same as always.

She had never been so grateful for the video, as it gave her the time needed to collect herself. Though it was almost wasted when she caught Haymitch staring at her from the corner of her eye. But she didn't let the Capitol mask crack.

Effie approached the microphone after the video played, smile on her face. "Welcome to the 72nd Hunger Games." She clapped her hands, but all of the citizens of 12 merely stared back at her. She swallowed, and forced her smile back on. "Well, as always, ladies first."

She shuffled to the bowl on her left, the easy one this year. She pulled out a name and read it. A girl stepped forward, moving as though in a daze. Effie clapped for her and placed her on the mark where the camera needed her to stand.

"And now for the gentlemen."

Effie's feet felt weighted, but she tried to show nothing. It took her longer than usual to catch a single piece of paper. She imagined Haymitch accusing her of milking it for the additional screen time. She felt a burst of anger at the imagined reaction as she grasped on to a slip of paper.

She removed it completely, returning to the microphone. Her thoughts raced, should she read the name she'd drawn? Would it be worth the risk? The danger?

Of course not. She would call out Ash Martin no matter the name on the paper.

She still unfolded it. It wouldn't look right otherwise, and she wanted to know the name of the boy who'd been spared.

She gasped, but covered it well, calling out clearly, "Ash Martin."

The same name was on the paper. Had Snow only put that name on all of the papers in that bowl? And if that was the case, why bother telling her to say that name? Why couldn't he have just left her in blissful ignorance? She clapped for him as well, trying to force her thoughts away. She held the hands of both of the tributes and announced, "District 12, your tributes."

A cry issued out from the men gathered behind the boys. A father, Effie guessed.

 

* * *

 

Haymitch was surprised that Effie had beat him to the bar car. He asked, "What are you doing here?"

She already had a scotch in hand. "The Tributes are saying their good-byes to their families. I wanted a drink before they get on the train."

Haymitch took the stool next to hers. He ordered a whiskey as Effie finished her drink. "What happened before the drawing, Effie?"

She stood and smiled (though Haymitch knew it was fake), "Nothing." She ordered a martini to go and took a step away from Haymitch (which hurt him more than he cared to admit). When her drink was ready, she picked it up in one hand, and walked past to go to the dining cart. Haymitch grabbed her arm, gently, to stop her.

He looked at her eyes and saw that she was holding back tears. What had happened to her? Something was wrong. But he obeyed her silent wish and let her go without any more questions. He downed his drink in one. He held up his empty glass, "One more to go."

With his fresh drink, he followed his escort to greet the tributes.

 

* * *

 

She was breaking rule #1 – don't get close. Effie kept calling the boy by his name. Haymitch had thought that Effie had learned something in all this time but apparently not.

"Now I want you two to tell me if there's anything you need. Anything at all. Do you have a favorite food?"

Neither tribute answered.

"Ash? No favorite food?"

He was looking at his fork, tapping it against his plate. He hunched down at the attention. "I dunno."

Effie smiled, "I don't believe that. Please tell me what's your favorite food?"

He shrugged, but when it became clear Effie wouldn't be letting up, he said, "My mom makes a potato casserole that's pretty good."

"Well we can order all kinds of potato dishes once we get to the Capitol." She turned to the girl. "And what about you?"

The girl acted like a scared rabbit who'd just caught the eye of a predator. She wrung her hands, "Um…I like sweet stuff…I guess."

Effie smiled, "We'll be sure to order all of the desserts then too. You children are lucky. The tributes from Districts 1, 2, and 4 aren't allowed desserts."

Since when did Effie call tributes children? Why was she humanizing them? She knew better than this. Haymitch wished for another drink, but even Capitol technology hadn't made that possible. He wondered if this bizzaro Effie applied to how she treated him as well. "Hey Effs," he held up his empty glass. "How about you fetch me a new drink?"

She glared at him. "Fetch it yourself."

He guessed that meant she hadn't changed that much. He got up to refill his drink himself. They only had one kind of booze in this car, but it was always his favorite. Though it had only been that way for the last four years. He looked at Effie, wondering what else she might have noticed over the years.

Three ice cubes and a full glass later, Haymitch was seated back at the table. He looked at the spread, and again was surprised to notice that several of his favorite foods were included. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more sure he became. Effie knew what he liked and made it available for him during the games.

He wasn't sure what to think of that. Part of his was grateful for the consideration but another was annoyed, annoyed that she would care this much about him, annoyed that he hadn't noticed until now. He grabbed some fruit and began eating to give him something to do other than think and to give him a reason to continue not to join the conversation.

Effie was giving her usual tour of the districts, explaining how fast they traveled on the train, and so on. He heard the same spiel every year though he supposed the children probably got something out of it.

Damn it, tributes. That crazy woman was making him do it now. He certainly knew better than to humanize the victims (sorry, tributes).

Haymitch finished his drink and went to fetch another. His thoughts shifted again amongst Effie's chatter, and he began to wonder if there would be another meeting. There almost had to be, what happened to Johanna meant a change in plans. He didn't doubt that.

Haymitch suppressed the rush of excitement at the thought of a rebellion against the Capitol. It was treacherous territory and he'd be better off to put it out of his mind and refuse to be any more involved.

But what about the rest of Panem?

 

* * *

 

Effie couldn't sleep. She kept thinking about the boy sleeping two doors down. She had to save him. If they could only save one tribute in all of their years, it had to be him.

She knew she would need Haymitch's help, but she wasn't ready to face him. She turned scarlet whenever she thought of how she had acted in her apartment last year. So far, he hadn't brought it up, but it was only a matter of time before the Victor threw that back in her face.

She wanted to avoid that and avoid him.

But she needed him to save Ash Martin.

Effie wasn't used to moral dilemmas or difficult decisions. She had always been a planner, and as such, she always was prepared for every situation. She knew what to do when a heel broke (use a temporary patch like gum and pretend everything is fine until you can manage to get some new shoes), and she knew how to handle grabby sponsors (laugh and move away, but be sure to act almost like it's a game.)

But President Snow and the situation with Ash Martin – this was beyond her. Nothing in her life had ever prepared her for something like this. She needed Haymitch, who'd been in the arena and lived to walk out again.

(Actually, if she remembered correctly, he had to be lifted out due to his injuries, but the point still stood.)

Effie thought of what the best way to approach would be, he should definitely be tipsy but not so drunk to forget any promises. She thought it would give them both more time if she spoke with him on the train, but he might be more receptive once they got into the Capitol.

This was all too hard for her. She was just meant to be pretty.

She thought about grabbing a drink to calm her nerves and send her to sleep, but knew that ran the risk of running into Haymitch without knowing what to do. But she needed the drink badly enough to throw caution to the wind. She'd dealt with Haymitch for five years now, surely she must know something about how to handle him by now.

She walked to the bar cart with this false confidence to bolster her, but it crumbled when she saw that Haymitch was sitting there. He raised a glass to her with a smirk. "Care to join me, Princess?"

Effie redoubled her efforts and ignored him even as she sat next to him. "Bartender, I'd like a martini, please."

"What's with you and martinis on this trip?"

"I happen to like martinis." Effie chanced and glance at Haymitch, and then scolded, "You shouldn't slouch like that."

Like a petulant child, Haymitch deepened his hunch over his drink. Effie said nothing further, waiting for her drink. The silence weighed on her, causing all the dark thoughts that troubled her to come back. "We don't have to talk about it, but…" she blurted out before she realized what she was doing.

Haymitch lifted an eyebrow. The bartender deposited her drink then left the car, obviously understanding that this was meant to be a private conversation. Effie took a sip for courage. Haymitch asked, "What were you saying there, sweetheart?"

She swallowed her drink far more carefully than necessary. "We should talk about what happened last year. Clear the air."

"You just said we didn't have to talk about it."

"Well, we don't have to talk about it…but we should just…" Effie didn't know what she was trying to say. She could feel tears pricking at her eyes, but she didn't want Haymitch to see them. She knew even the smallest leak would lead the dam of her emotions to break and she'd tell him everything.

She wasn't ready to do that.

"We don't have to talk about us, I just wanted to thank you for not taking advantage in my drunken state."

"Who do you think I am, Effie?"

He so rarely called her by her name, she was taken aback. She ducked her head, "You know what I mean. Thank you for a being a gentleman, for once."

Haymitch returned to his drink. "Was that it?"

No, that was not it at all. She had so much to say to this man. "Yes. Like I said, I just wanted to clear the air." She forced a smile. "After all, we're going to need to work together to keep those kids alive."

"How can you still be so optimistic, Trinket?"

Effie's smile left, she preferred her first name on his lips. "If people don't have hope, they have nothing."

Haymitch's eyes connect with hers, they were so different from the artificially colored ones that were the current rage in the Capitol. He studied her like she was a puzzle he was working through to figure out.

She plastered on a fake smile again and finished her drink. "I'm going to bed. You should get some rest too. We have a big day ahead of us."

 

* * *

 

Haymitch stayed behind after she left. She surprised him sometimes. And he didn't think he could be surprised anymore. She would babble on about nothing so often that it was second nature to tune her out. But then she'd say something almost profound.

She could still surprise him. She was still so unspoiled by the games.

He finished his whiskey.

 


	13. Chapter 13

Effie was up first, she was already at the table talking with the tributes when Haymtich stumbled out of bed. He grabbed a muffin, his favorite – seriously, how long had she been doing this?—and took his seat at the other head of the table.

The kids didn’t go completely silent, but they did stiffen. He wondered why it was that they were more comfortable around the weird-looking Capitol woman rather than him, someone from home. He remembered when he’d been a tribute, he avoided his escort since she seemed like a clueless idiot who was more concerned with how she looked above of everything else.

When he came back as a victor in the next couple of years, he learned that was a trait of all of the escorts.

He then learned that was something that was true of all Capitol folks. Theirs was a shallow, superficial culture.

He thought of Cinna and Plutarch, how had they broken from that mold? He didn’t know. Actually he didn’t know much about either man. As he was planning revolution with them, he guessed he really should remedy that.

Once he finished his drink, maybe.

“Haymitch?” Effie’s voice broke through his thoughts. She was nearly glaring at him, so she must have called him a few times.

He finished his muffin. “What it is, sweetheart?”

She was back to smiling though Haymitch guessed it was her fake smile (which was almost exactly the same as her real one). “I thought you should speak with the children about winning the games. Maybe talk about strategies, what it’s like in the arena.”

Stop calling them children, Effie. Haymitch had some more whiskey. “I couldn’t tell them about the arena; it changes every year.”

“But what about the feeling of it?” The boy asked. He drew the rest of the table’s attention. He seemed to flounder under the spotlight, which was never a good thing for a tribute. “I mean, whenever we watch, the kids always seem so confused at first. Then it’s like some of them have a plan and some of them don’t. It seems like the ones who have a plan live. The ones who look confused die in the bloodbath.”

The girl spoke up, “Some of them run to their deaths, and they have a look of determination instead of confusion.”

This year’s tributes were perceptive, Haymitch thought. He decided to reward them with honesty. “The games are won or lost before the arena.”

Both kids look confused at his words, even Effie seemed like she didn’t understand what he was saying. He continued, fighting to push every word out, “Sponsors are what decide your fate. You need good PR, a good story. That’s what the people in the Capitol like, and you have to make them happy or you’ll die.”

Haymitch’s fingers twitched and he nearly leapt out of his chair for a new drink. That was too honest.

The table behind him was silent. Then the girl began to giggle, which turned into braying laughter. She now had the attention of the room, and to her credit, she didn’t shrink in it like the boy. “Don’t you all get it? Look at the feast in front of us. That’s why it’s called the hunger games. I never fully understood until now.” No one knew what she was talking about. She grabbed a turkey leg and took a massive bite out of it. “Eat and drink your fill, for tomorrow we die.”

The words turned the blood in Haymitch’s veins to ice. He wondered if this girl could live. No, she was too self-destructive. He’d seen a couple of tributes implode, it was never a pretty sight. He looked to Effie.

She frowned, “Macey, don’t eat with your hands. It’s rude.”

The girl snorted. “Like manners matter.”

That seemed to upset Effie more than anything, and Haymitch was surprised when Effie yelled back in response, “Didn’t you hear anything your mentor said? All that matters is manners! You need people to like you to live. No one likes a boar.”

The girl, some flakes of turkey skin outlining her mouth, sneered, “I don’t care what you think, you Capitol bitch.”

Effie stood, “Ash, come along. I don’t want you to pick up any bad habits from this creature.”

The boy followed her without a fight. Haymitch, drink forgotten, struggled to understand what just happened.

 

* * *

 

“What’s going on with you?” 

They would arrive in the Capitol tomorrow, and Effie was in the bar car again. She knew she shouldn’t think that Haymitch had sought her out tonight. He probably just came for his nightcap, which was really more of a nightbottle. But part of her wondered. “What do you mean?”

Haymitch took the seat next to her. The bartender wasn’t here, so Haymitch reached behind the bar for a bottle of whiskey. She grimaced when he began to drink directly from the spout. “What I mean is that you seem to be taking these games personally. You should know better by now.”

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” Effie took a sip from her glass.

“Maybe it’s because you’ve been doing this too long. I’m sure they taught you not to get too close in whatever escort training you must do.”

They did. They had told her to remember that District people weren’t like her. They were barely a step above animals, and while she may feel sadness for their deaths, it was only part of the natural order of things. She should know that, but it was different when she also knew that these games were fixed…and she was a willing participant in them. She felt so exhausted by everything. “Haymitch, must we do this?”

“Yes.” She was surprised at his tone. He sounded firm and sober. She never imagined him taking anything seriously, but looking at his face—this was a man who won the Hunger Games. This was a determined, smart, serious man. “Effie, tell me what’s wrong.”

Could Snow hear them here? Surely, the man had spies everywhere. She’d never questioned it before, yes the Capitol and the Districts were under constant surveillance, but that was for their safety. Unable to process the collapse of her world, Effie burst into tears. She leaned into Haymitch’s chest. “Oh Haymitch.”

He reacted slowly, much more like the drunk Haymitch she knew. He patted her shoulders carefully, like he was testing whether or not that was the correct thing to do. She cried harder.

They spent the next fifteen minutes like that, Haymitch awkwardly comforting a crying Effie. When her tears were done, Effie sat up again, breaking free from Haymitch’s loose grasp. She wiped her eyes, imagining what a disaster she’d reeked on her makeup. “I’m sorry for my outburst,” she apologized formally. 

Haymitch didn’t appear to understand, still seemed bewildered. So Effie didn’t wait for an acknowledgement of her apology as decorum dictated, she left her drink unfinished and went to her room.

 

* * *

 

In the morning, Effie wasn’t surprised to find the Haymitch wasn’t up in time to help get the tributes ready for arriving at the Capitol. She wondered how much later he’d stayed up after she’d left, but didn’t care enough to check on him.

She had bigger concerns. First, she apologized to Macey. She was here to help her, not yell at her and hoped their relationship wouldn’t be affected.

Macey replied with, “Whatever,” continuing her sullen teenager routine.

It didn’t make her very likable, but Effie wouldn’t let the girl’s surly attitude get in the way of her job. She grinned when the boy made his appearance. He looked nervous, tugging on his shirt sleeves. “How are you doing this morning, Ash?”

The boy startled at his name. “Um, I’m fine, I guess.”

Effie made a mental note to go over elocution with the boy before his interview. He had to get rid of his verbal tics. “Okay, big smiles from both of you as you exit the car. I want you both to make a great first impression.” Effie tried to straighten out the girl’s dress, but she pushed her away. She picked off a thread from the boy’s suit. He still looked nervous. She smiled at him again, “Ash, I need you to take 10 big breaths for me, okay, in and out.”

She inhaled and exhaled with him, counting down. At 10 he did seem more relaxed. She kept her happy face on, “Remember, big smiles.” She thought about mentioning his family seeing him on television for the first time, but decided it might just make him nervous again.

The doors opened to cheering crowds and flashing lights. 

“Breathe, children, and remember to smile.”

 

* * *

 

Haymitch didn’t make it to the penthouse until it was dark. He’d found Chaff when he finally got off the train and the two of them skipped the parade of tributes in favor of a bar. After a few bottles, Chaff mentioned, almost without sound, that the revolution was being postponed.

“I tried to tell you all that Johanna wasn’t the right choice.”

“Nobody likes a know-it-all, Haymitch.” Chaff said nothing for a moment. “Snow made her come to these games as a mentor.”

Haymitch took another drink. “Is anyone with her?” He worried that the answer might be Blight, who while a nice man, would be in over his head with everything she was going through.

“That kid Finnick has seemed to take a liking toward her.”

Haymitch couldn’t believe that Effie might be right. “I thought he liked that girl from his district…Annie?”

“I meant in a friendly manner. They’re probably in some other bar right now, toasting the Capitol just like us.” Chaff raised his glass with a mocking grin.

Haymitch copied the action. “To the Capitol.”

“To the Capitol, indeed.”

 

* * *

 

When he stumbled into the penthouse, Haymitch was surprised by its emptiness. He had expected Effie, up and waiting, ready to chew him out. He expected the lecture on how bad it looks when he can’t even bother to show for major events, how his actions affected everyone. He wasn’t disappointed to find it empty; he’d had enough of Effie’s lectures to last him a lifetime, but he did feel something. Surprise? Worry? 

He pushed the thoughts aside. He didn’t care what he was feeling.

Still the feeling upset him enough that he couldn’t sleep. He made his way to the wet bar, hoping that one more nightcap would bring sweet unconsciousness. But the alcohol was hidden away.

He grumbled. That bitch only hid the booze when she was mad at him. Why would she be mad? Okay, he hadn’t gone to the parade and began courting sponsors. But did she really think it would matter?

After all this time, did she really think they still had any kind of hope of winning?

He decided that the next best thing to a drink would be some fresh air, so he stumbled to the roof.

Haymitch was surprised to see Effie there, sans wig but with a scarf over her head, cigarette in hand. She looked annoyed at the interruption, but Haymitch still walked over to her. Leaning on the other wall across from her.

“You smoke?”

“I’ve been trying to quit.” Effie decided not to mention she’d been trying to do so for 15 years. She took another drag. “I only do it when I’m stressed.”

Haymitch asked, “Why are you so stressed?”

She barked out a laugh. “What kind of question is that? Do you not realize that we have two tributes downstairs sleeping? Children we are responsible for? Children whose only hope of living more than two weeks is me and a drunk who can’t even bother to show up to watch his kids make their first impression on the world!”

Her voice rose steadily during her rant. Haymitch wasn’t used to this Effie. She lectured, she didn’t rant. “Effie, what the hell is going on with you?” Haymitch’s alcohol soaked brained tried to think back. What made these games different for her? He remembered, “What happened with you and Snow, Effs?”

Effie stubbed out her cigarette. The nickname was new. She wanted to confide in him, in someone, but could she trust him?

Haymitch could see that she was wrestling with something. He tried to reassure her, “There are no cameras up here, you know. No microphones either.”

It worked. Effie sighed, “I…” A sob escaped, which she stuffed down and started again. “Do you know what’s happening in your district?”

It was an odd question, coming from Effie. But Haymitch saw no reason to lie. “Not really. I pretty much cut myself off from the rest of them.” It made it easier.

Effie fiddled with an unlit cigarette, as if debating if she needed another to continue. “Well, there’s a man in District 12. President Snow doesn’t like him. His son is sleeping below us. I called out his name because my leader asked.” Effie move to light the cigarette, but her crying made her hands too unsteady.

Haymitch grabbed them. Even as drunk as he was, he was able to stop her hands from shaking. It all made sense now. Why Effie cared this year more than ever. In his mind, Haymitch cursed Snow. How could that bastard do this to one of his own? “It’s okay, Effie. You did the right thing.”

She took her hands out of his. “What I did didn’t matter. I picked his name anyway. What do you think are the odds on that happening, Haymitch?”

Haymitch knew. He also knew Effie wasn’t stupid enough not to know the answer. “The odds are never in our favor, Effie. That’s real truth to the games.”

She tried again to light her cigarette. Haymitch helped, then stole one for himself. It was some crappy herbal kind that tasted terrible. But it helped calm him too.

They smoked together in silence, exhaling out over the Capitol rooftops.

 

* * *

 

The next day, Effie Trinket was back, bright smile on her face and energy to spare. Both the kids were eating, and she sat with them. “Okay, so today is the first day of training. It will be very important for you both to soak in as much as you can.” 

Macey snorted, “What would you know about it?”

Effie pursed her lips, but before she could retort, Haymitch did, “More than you, pipsqueak.”

Effie was shocked. Haymitch was never out of his room before noon, unless she dragged him out. He grabbed an orange, taking his place across from her. “You two are going to be up against six people who have spent their entire lives preparing for this. Not to mention 16 other kids who could get lucky or have their own strategy.”

Macey slouched back in her chair. Ash perked up though, “Any ideas on a strategy for us?”

“That depends. You two planning on teaming up? Or would you rather be coached separately?”

Ash looked across the table, and Macey just shrugged. She said, “It’s probably be easier just to train us together.”

“Okay, this is what I want you to do when you go into that room. Start with a station you don’t know much about, but would be helpful. Not weapons, something more like identifying plants or camouflage. In fact, I don’t want either you to go anywhere near weapons today. Don’t watch the careers practicing with them either. I want you both to be invisible, unnoticeable and unremarkable.”

Ash frowned, “I thought we needed to be memorable.”

“To get sponsors. Save your charm for the cameras.”

Effie was nearly giddy. This is the victor she’d always dreamed of having. One that supported and encouraged her tributes. She even thought that Haymitch might actually be sober.

Until an avox brought him a Bloody Mary, but even that couldn’t damper her mood. If her heels hadn’t been so high, she would have thought about skipping the tributes down to the training area.

 

* * *

 

“You did good.” 

Haymitch was on Bloody Mary #4 which apparently wasn’t high enough to keep Effie squeaky voice from hurting his ears. “What?” he growled.

“Today. You did good. Giving them advice, helping them win.”

He chuckled. “You know it won’t matter, right? They’re still going to die.”

“You don’t know that.”

But he did. Especially the boy. If Snow wanted him dead, it would happen. Probably in some horrible way, and, Haymitch guessed, it wouldn’t be death by tribute. It would probably be some quirk of the game released on a sleeping boy, to spice things up. He signaled an avox for Bloody Mary #5.

“I think we have a real chance this year. And I’m not just saying that. I mean, the girl’s manners are horrible, but she actually cleaned up quite nicely at the parade.” Effie frowned and looked around the apartment. “I wonder where the stylists are this year. We used hardly be able to breath without them there, but these new ones…you haven’t even properly met them yet.”

Haymitch really didn’t care that the stylists weren’t hanging around. He was grateful to be rid of the spies. And the strategy part of his brain knew it was good that Snow didn’t consider District 12 a threat.

Plutarch’s words were echoing in his thoughts, “We need another 12 victor…I think our revolution will begin in your district.”

Without Effie’s interruptions, left alone for most of the year, Haymitch’s thoughts had often turned to strategy and rebellion. How they could rise against Snow. What they would need for it be successful. What questions he should ask about 13 next time he saw Plutarch, or even Coin.

He had long thought that this part of him was dead, figured it died with his brother, his mother and his girl. But his brain still could plan, still could think.

Haymitch Abernathy still could fight.

 

* * *

 

Haymitch spent the next few days actually doing his job. He advised both tributes about what it would be like in the arena, how to survive, how important it was to find water and shelter, the pros and cons of alliances. But he focused on the importance of sponsors, and told Macey that she would have to listen to Effie’s instructions. 

“The woman is a complete idiot,” Macey argued.

Haymitch couldn’t find the words to argue that at first. Effie was dumb. He couldn’t deny that. “She’s a Capitol, your key to this world. I can’t tell you how a sponsor thinks, what they want to see, what will make them like you. She can.”

He was glad Effie wasn’t around to hear any of this, she might think he actually liked her, or even respected her. The girl still didn’t look convinced, so Haymitch added, “No one is going to give money to surly children from some nowhere district, so smile. It could save your lives.”

That got through.

 

* * *

 

Effie struggled with the girl, but the boy was proving to be much easier. “So, we’re going to need an angle. Can you think of anything?” 

“Why are you asking me? Shouldn’t you have a plan already?”

“Well, it’s always best to play to your natural strengths.” He shrugged. Effie had an idea, but she wasn’t sure it would be a wise one. She thought for a moment. It was all she had. “What about a bad boy? A rebel?”

Ash tensed. “I don’t think that would play well.”

Effie didn’t want to push it because she wasn’t sure how it would play either. “Well, do you have any ideas?”

He shrugged again. Effie asked, “What did your classmates think of you? How would they describe you?”

Ash looked at his feet. Effie sighed, “You don’t know that either?

“No, I know.” When he finally looked at her, Effie noticed that he was holding back tears. “They’d probably call me a bully. My dad’s important, and well, I liked to think that made me important too.”

Effie’s mind was racing, “A reformed bad boy. That might play even better.”

“What?”

“You can admit to all of that, and talk about how the games have made you a better person, and how your greatest desire to win them and go home a better person. Tell them that the games have changed your life for the better.”

“Are you crazy?” He began with a whisper, but it grew louder. “How could I ever say that? The games are going to kill me! I’m not going to survive this and you want me to pretend that I happy to be here. How in the hell do you expect me to do that?”

“Lie. You lie. You lie to everyone. You lie to the crowds. You put a smile on your face and pretend that everything’s great. You even lie to yourself. You lie until you forget the truth.”

Effie took a deep breath. She hadn’t meant to lose her composure.

It seemed to get through to the boy though. “I lie.”

“You lie.”

He gave a snort. “That almost sounds easy.”

“It’ll get easier. Now,” Effie Trinket forced her smile back. “Let’s practice your story.”

 

* * *

 

The interviews went better than Effie or Haymitch could have wanted. The girl, Macey, played it as the cocky one. She smirked and winked, and wasn’t completely repulsive. The boy, Ash, played his reformed rebel, but Haymitch worried that he’d gone too sensitive in his approach, tearing up at the end of his interview about the kids he once bullied. Though he decided that he could be wrong when he saw Effie and the stylists dabbing her eyes. 

They put the kids to bed and Haymitch went straight for the bar afterwards. He was surprised that Effie joined him. She usually went to straight to bed. She mixed some fancy neon colored drink.

“That went well I think.”

Haymitch nodded in agreement. “We’ll find out after the rankings and once the games start. Whether or not we can get sponsors that will be the real test.”

“I’m confident in us. We have an actual chance this year, Haymitch.”

He didn’t want to agree, but he could feel that spark of hope too.

 

* * *

 

It wasn’t until the day of the rankings that that spark was extinguished. Haymitch wasn’t surprised that neither kid had managed over a six, but he had hoped for a little better. He went down to the bar to figure out a way to make the lower ranking work for them, when Plutarch took a seat next to him. 

“Haven’t seen you much these games.”

Haymitch lifted his glass, “Been busy, you know, mentoring.”

Plutarch chuckled. Haymitch thought about taking offense, but the truth was that it was kind of funny – him, trying? “Any updates,” he asked under his breath.

“No.” Plutarch got a drink of his own. “I get the feeling that this whole thing has turned into a boulder on top of a hill. Right now, we’re all just standing around, but once it gets going, it’s going to go fast.”

Haymitch couldn’t disagree, but he wondered, “Why do you care about any of this, Plutarch? You’re a gamemaker and in Snow’s inner circle. Why do you even want things to change?”

He was quiet for a moment before answering, “Because I believe in democracy. This country once had ideals, used to stand for something more. I want to live in a world where people’s freedoms matter more than the latest lipstick shade.”

Haymitch couldn’t fault him for that, but “How did you get that way being a Capitol?”

Plutarch smiled to himself. “I would think you would know that where a person is from doesn’t mean as much as we think. Effie is one of the nicest people I know.”

“She’s one of the shallowest I know.”

Plutarch didn’t disagree, but also didn’t answer Haymitch’s original question. He let it go, figuring the story was either too long or too personal. “She’s going to need you, you know.”

“What?”

“Effie. I noticed you both actually seem to be trying this year, which is odd. As this is the year the fix is in. No one from 12 is to make it out of the arena alive.”

Haymitch shouldn’t have been surprised. He’d told Effie as much, but he still felt his stomach drop. “I didn’t realize that Snow could be so blunt.”

“Oh he wasn’t. But those of us close to him got that way because we are quite skilled at reading between the lines.”

Haymitch downed his drink and poured another. He wondered if he should tell Effie, if it would be better on her to know right away. But he didn’t think she would believe him. He stopped with the glass and just picked up a bottle.

Plutarch rose, putting one hand on Haymitch’s shoulder. “I’m sorry for your impending lose.”

Haymitch didn’t make it back to the penthouse that night.

 

* * *

 

It was the big morning, and Effie had been left to get the children ready for their games by herself. She swore that if Haymitch wasn’t here for any reason other than getting a head start on courting sponsors, she’d kill him. 

He naturally came in as they were walking out the door. She noticed that he refused to look at the tributes. He shouldn’t be able to meet their eyes, not after he didn’t help her this morning. She tried to push her anger aside. “There you are. Good, you can escort…”

He cut her off. “That’s your job, escort.”

Ash asked, “Any last minute advice?”

Haymitch swallowed, finally looking at both of the kids. He seemed like he needed a drink badly. Effie wasn’t sure what was going on in his head. He didn’t usually get this sentimental with the tributes. “Try to stay alive.”

Both children nodded, as if taking his advice to heart. He practically ran into the penthouse, Effie guessed he needed a drink badly. Maybe he was hungover?

She decided she didn’t care, plastering on a smile for the tributes. “Come along, children.”

In the elevator, there was a moment of awkward silence, which Effie filled with prattle. “You know, I’m not supposed to say, but I heard rumors that the arena this year is like a tropical paradise. Like nothing either of you have ever seen.” She smiled. “It’ll be like a short little vacation, your own slice of paradise.”

Surprisingly, her words effected the girl the most. Who began to sob and threw her arms around Effie. She said something that Effie wished she hadn’t heard, “I don’t want to die.”

The boy pried Macey off their escort. She turned to throw her arms over him, and he comforted her. Effie smoothed out her dress, checking if any make up had rubbed off on it. She did this longer than was necessary. When she looked up, she meet the boy’s grey District 12 eyes, and he told her, “Thank you for everything, Effie.”

The elevator dinged, as they had arrived at their destination. The girl immediately separated herself from her district partner, composing herself before the doors opened. Effie noticed the smug look the tribute forced on her face. The boy couldn’t hide his despair. Effie wondered if she and Haymitch should have focused on the girl a little more, she at least had the ability to lie.

Her guilt immediately reminded her to care for the boy in the first place. He was here because of her. She would be the one who placed him in the arena, even now she was escorting him to his death.

She forced her own smile as she walked them to their stylists for final preparations. As they moved to leave her, she decided it was time for some parting words, “Macey, Ash…” She had their attention, as they stopped to look at her, but she didn’t know what to say. She hadn’t actually prepared anything, and she didn’t do well on the fly. She bit her lip, surely smudging her lipstick, before saying with a smile, “May the odds be in your favor.”

Ash tried to give a small smile, but the words just seemed to cause more despair for the children.

Effie walked back to the penthouse, alone.

 

* * *

 

Haymitch was drunk by the time she got back. Effie wondered how he’d managed that so quickly, but moved to find the champagne she’d hidden for this year’s toast. She was struggling not to cry, as she balanced the bottle and two flutes. 

She set both glasses, filling them both almost completely. Haymitch’s eyebrow rose as she handed him his glass, “Aren’t we going to wait?”

Effie didn’t care about the stylists, hoped they avoided the penthouse. She took her own glass and lifted it up for a toast, “To Ash and Macey, may they find paradise.”

She emptied her glass and immediately went to fill another.

“Effie, what are you doing?” Haymitch asked.

“Catching up,” she responded.

 

* * *

 

They were both drunk by the time Caesar announced the beginning of the 72nd Hunger Games. They watched the countdown with whitened knuckles, one hand wrapped around a glass, the other clasping each other’s hand. 

Haymitch wondered why he was letting Effie hold his hand, but he didn’t mind it too much and didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.

Haymitch noticed that when the gun went off, Effie jumped. He took his eyes off the screen, looking at her. She looked more worried than he ever remembered seeing her. He turned away, he wanted to be numb. He didn’t want to feel anything, didn’t want her disappoint when the kids (tributes) died, didn’t want to care about the senseless deaths of two nice kids.

He finished his drink. He guessed neither kid was in the bloodbath, as Effie hadn’t screamed or reacted. So he was surprised when he looked back to the screen and was looking into the dead eyes of Macey.

Effie answered his unasked question, “She was going for a sword. A child from District 2 got her. It scared Ash off though. He ran into that gathering of palm trees.”

Her voice didn’t have any feeling in it, which unnerved Haymitch. Even at her most Capitol, Effie usually managed some degree of sweetness or anger in her tone. He put his glass down, opting for a bottle instead.

For some reason, this game reminded him of his first game as a mentor. When he’d bothered to learn the kids names, when he tried to help them, when he got just as annoyed as the current escort that the kids just seemed interested in eating desserts and living it up before their imminent deaths. He’d lived. It could be done. It came with a very steep price, but you could survive the games.

But math didn’t lie. Each year there was only one victor. That victor had come from District 12 less than 3% of the time. The odds weren’t in their favor. 

Still he had hoped, had tried in the beginning, despite knowing it was all for naught. He was supposed to be better now.

Haymitch felt the tear rolling down his cheek more so than the sadness. He thought about wiping it away, but he didn’t want to draw attention to it. He reminded himself that he didn’t care about these tributes, not any more than he ever did. He didn’t care.

He repeated his mantra for what felt like hours. Effie was the one who snapped him out of it. “We should eat and then court sponsors for Ash.”

“No one will sponsor him,” Haymitch automatically answered.

Effie inhaled deeply, “We have to try, Haymitch. We can’t just sit here and watch him die.” 

He recognized the wisdom her words. He finished his bottle and followed her to where the sponsors gathered for the games.

 

* * *

 

Effie could feel the champagne effects, but she also knew that most of the sponsors were probably just as bad, if not worse than her. She laughed at one sponsor’s bad joke. “Oh, Cassius, you’re so witty.”

He smiled and put an arm around her. “I have more talents than that you know.”

Effie noticed him staring right at her chest. She knew she shouldn’t mind, but it made her uncomfortable. She searched the crowd for Haymitch, hoping for a rescue. She smiled again, “Cassius, stop. You’ll make me blush.”

He whispered against her neck, “I can do more than that. I want you.”

Effie giggled again, taking a sip of her drink. Where the hell was Haymitch? She felt one of Cassius’ hands grab her ass. She subtly tried to move away from it. “So, who are you rooting for these Hunger Games?”

Cassius backed off a little. “You know, everyone is looking for another underdog this year, but I just don’t see it happening. My money’s on the boy from 2.”

The one who killed Macey. Effie forced the thought from her mind, cuddling back up to him. “But certainly, don’t you want to spread your money around a little? No one should put all their eggs in one basket.”

He was close again, this time whispering in her ear, letting his tongue trace the outline of it as he spoke, “I’d rather be spreading your legs.”

Haymitch finally appeared, drunkenly pushing Cassius aside. The potential sponsor looked annoyed, and Effie would usually lecture Haymitch’s rude manners, but she was too relieved to care at the moment. “Trinket, have you tried these little hot dog things?” He tried to shove one in her mouth.

Annoyed, Cassius left. Effie’s gratefulness only went so far and she turned away from Haymitch. “Did you find any sponsors?”

He dropped the drunk act (though she knew he actually was probably drunk), “No. I told you. We’re wasting our time. No one will talk to me.”

“Well, maybe if you hadn’t developed such a bad reputation…”

“My reputation is that I’m fun. And I can be charming and smart. You’re the one with the perpetual stick up her ass.”

“No one takes a drunk seriously.”

“No one likes a buzzkill either, sweetheart.”

“Stop calling me that.” Effie wanted to stomp her foot, but remembered where she was. This was not the place for this argument.

She wondered what strange twist of fate compelled her to look at the screen just then, but she saw them – mutts. The camera cut to their remaining tribute, to Ash.

The mutts were headed straight for them.

She gasped, repressing her need to shout run to him. Cassius spoke much louder than he needed, announcing, “Looks like 12 is about to be taken out of the competition.”

Effie didn’t want to watch Ash Martin get ripped apart. She didn’t want anyone here to see her reaction, so she left the room, Haymitch at her heels. She heard a commotion behind her. Sponsors celebrating a child’s death, enthralled by the gruesomeness of it.

So Ash Martin was dead.

Effie made it to the elevator, but as soon as the doors shut she began to cry. She found herself clutching for Haymitch’s chest, felt a small relief when his arms encircled her. “Oh Haymitch, I killed him. He’d still be alive if it wasn’t for me.”

She stepped back for a moment, wanting to see his eyes. “If only Snow had never…”

Haymitch cut her off, sealing her lips with his own.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N. So there’s sex ahead. Nothing too graphic, but it’s not exactly kiss then fade to black either. I’d meant for it to be skippable, but some plot snuck in. Still if you want to skip the first section, nothing too earth-shattering happens (no pun intended).

Effie was caught completely off-guard by the kiss, which had been Haymitch’s intention. He began to back her up until her back was against the elevator wall. She finally responded, throwing all her confused emotions back at him. His tongue wrestled with hers, and it took him a moment to remember why he’d begun kissing her in the first place.

He broke it off, and began to kiss her jaw, softly. He whispered when he made it to her ear, “Not here. It’s not safe.”

Before she could ask a question, he reattached their lips. Vaguely, his brain thought if there were cameras and not just listening devices in here, someone might be getting one hell of a show. He worried about him and his escort being on a cover of some tabloid in the future.

He pushed these worries aside, focusing on Effie. He wrapped her legs around his waist, grinding against her, forcing a gasp from her lips.

He hated the taste of lipstick. He endeavored to rid her of all of hers.

The task went unfinished as the doors dinged, opening to their rooms. He grabbed her ass, not bothering to let her walk.

He was getting older, he noticed. His low back was immediately in pain from Effie’s rather insubstantial weight. Still he made it to their door, pushing against it. He wasn’t sure if their rooms were any safer, but he didn’t really want to talk with her anyway.

He opened the door, spilling them both into the familiar penthouse. Their lips were still attacking each other. With a heeled foot, Effie slammed the door shut.

The caught their breaths for a moment on the floor. Effie played with a few strands of Haymitch’s hair. Eventually, she grabbed a handful of it to force him back to her mouth. His mind tried to reach him through the haze of booze and lust, tried to remind him of all the reasons this was a bad idea.

But his mind was overruled by the rest of his body. It had been too long since he’d had a willing body beneath him. They made out like teenagers for either a moment or hours before he realized that a bed would be better. He broke away, standing up.

Effie first tried to grab him, force him back to her, but even as her lips tried to follow his, she realized he was standing. He held a hand out, knowing she liked that gentleman crap. She took it, but now it seemed her mind had caught up to the rest of her body.

She glanced over at the screen in the corner. It was always on, and right now it was focused on sleeping tributes. Tributes that no longer included District 12.

Rather than crying, she recaptured Haymitch’s lips. He’d been following her thoughts; he knew they should stop, but then he heard her whisper, “Help me to forget.”

He wondered if this was what she used to cope with her role in killing children. If sex was her booze. He didn’t want to ask. Didn’t want to know if she’d dragged men to her bed after previous games.

He’d never admit that the thought made him jealous.

He picked her up again, intending to bring her to one of their bedrooms, but age really was catching up with him, and he could feel his arms giving out. Rather than killing the mood by dropping her, he put her atop the table, acting like it was his lust that couldn’t wait.

It was a beautiful mahogany, not that he noticed.

He began to undress her. He thought most of what she wore was stupid and this plaid number was no different, so there was no finesse. He ripped it away, tearing fabric and sending buttons flying.

She should have lectured him. No Capitol man would have acted this savagely, but she didn’t care. She was more careful with his clothes, but when he assisted her, he wasn’t. She tried to unbutton his shirt properly, but she found her hands were shaking too much, so he just ripped it off.

The failure reminded her of Ash Martin. She felt the tears rolling down her cheeks.

The sight seemed to slow Haymitch. He kissed her cheek, licking away her tears, “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“I failed him, Haymitch. And I killed that boy. I killed him.”

“You didn’t.”

“I drew his name.” She thought of the other children over the years. “I killed them all, didn’t I? I draw the names.”

“If you didn’t do it someone else would.” Haymitch forced her eyes to look into his. “Effie, you at least care. You try to save them. It’s better than most.” He wanted to tell her more. Tell her how she was the only escort he’d liked. How he didn’t want her to leave.

“But I never save them. It’s so hard, Haymitch.”

“I know. I wish I could tell you it gets easier.” It had been awhile for Haymitch, but dead children were not his usual pillow talk. He wondered if the mood was gone. His erection wasn’t quite gone, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle himself if she wanted to stop.

Effie hadn’t shed anymore tears, but her eyes shined with unshed ones. “That’s why you drink, isn’t it?”

Mostly, he wanted to tell her. But he wasn’t sure he was ready to tell her everything. He doubted they were completely safe here. He didn’t really care if Snow found out him and Effie had sex, it wasn’t that uncommon, especially since they’d worked together a few years. But if he told her secrets? The President might mistake that for feelings, might think Haymitch cared about her.

Haymitch had learned the lesson of what happened to people he cared about well.

He went back to being gruff. “Listen, Trinket. Did you want to fuck or not?”

He’d expected her to throw him off her for rudeness and try to recover herself with her ripped dress. But she looked thoughtful, like she didn’t know the answer.

Haymitch stood, waiting for her response.

He was surprised by it. She slipped off of the table, but instead of going to her room like he expected, she went down on her knees. While his shirt had provided her with problems, his pants were a different story.

Haymitch’s head rolled back, and he had to grab onto the table to ensure his legs didn’t give out. He’d wondered about Effie, she could be such a prude sometimes. He wondered how experienced she actually was.

Very, it turned out. It shouldn’t surprise him, he knew. The Capitol was known for having loose morals and orgies were an actual thing here, not just some fictional fantasy.

She really was just another Capitol. Sex probably meant as little to her as it did to any of the other women he’d bedded here. Just something to do to pass the time, something to keep the real feelings at bay.

He pushed her off him, forcing her up. She tried for a kiss, but instead he forced her face to the table. Pushing her skirt up and bringing her panties down, he stepped behind her.

He thought of how much he hated the Capitol and, despite her tears, how Capitol Effie Trinket was.

It was not gentle. It was not comforting. It left her with bruises and him with sore muscles. It was far from perfect. She screeched in his ear, leaving it ringing, when he hit a sensitive spot. He didn’t last as long as he should have.

Yet, it felt like heaven. And even as he softened and stifled a joke at her melted clown make up and eschewed wig, he knew he wanted more.

Her forcing her tongue back into his mouth told him that she was on the same page, so he gathered her into his arms and carried her back to his room.

 

* * *

 

Effie Trinket had never understood people’s obsession with wanting to sleep with a victor. True, everyone had had a crush and a fantasy about at least one victor at one time. And yes, there were means to make fantasy reality, but the idea had never held much appeal to Effie. 

She once wondered if it was because she was too close to the real side of the games. She knew how crass most of the victors really were, how filthy the Districts could be. And even the fantasies of an eight year old girl couldn’t survive cleaning up the puke of the handsome 16 year old you once dreamed about.

Effie had a few friends she knew would have sponsored 12 for a particular piece of its victor; even with him past his prime, just for the bragging rights. She had never mentioned it to Haymitch. He had once told her he hated the idea of her whoring herself out for sponsors, so she figured he wouldn’t be too keen to do it himself.

She didn’t know why anyone would want to sleep with a victor, couldn’t understand the obsession at all.

And still, she woke up to find herself in a victor’s bed.

At least she hadn’t paid for the privilege.

A pounding in her head, her oncoming hangover, proved that statement to be false.

Everything hurt, the light was too bright, the room too cold but the sheets too warm. She shifted on the bed, disrupting her partner’s sleep.

Haymitch’s groan next to her might as well have been a trumpet blast. “Shh.” She swatted at him without looking.

Part of her knew that she should be disgusted with herself and surprised to find herself in this situation. She should knew better than to be interested in her victor; she had scoffed during her training when they warned against escorts getting into physical relationships with their victors. She had guessed only those with the loosest of morals would have such vulgar problems.

Effie Trinket would never stoop so low.

She stumbled out of the bed, gathering her clothes as quickly as possible. If she wasn’t found in his room, it didn’t happen. If he tried to talk to her about it, she would insist it was just a drunken dream.

It had never happened.

That was her mantra as she gathered clothes and ran to her room.

It had never happened. A moment of weakness and nothing more. 

She hadn’t noticed that she’d left her wig behind.

 

* * *

 

Effie wasn’t in the penthouse when Haymitch woke up. He took that as a sign that she considered last night a mistake. He couldn’t disagree with her on that, so he didn’t bother trying to find her.

Haymitch wanted to get away from her too, wanted to go home, but that’s not how the games worked. Even when both of your tributes were dead and you had no reason to stay, all mentors had to stay until the games finished. Haymitch usually spent this time getting drunk with Chaff. It was how they’d become friends in the first place.

Chaff had won the 45th Hunger Games by cutting off his own hand to escape a trap the careers had laid for him and then taking them by surprise to end it and had taken Haymitch under his drunken wing. He’d taught him how to have fun and distract himself from the misery of the games. He’d been a true friend, showing him how to live on year after year. Haymitch sometimes wondered what would have happened to him without Chaff’s guidance and friendship. Such thoughts weren’t dwelled upon because Haymitch didn’t really want to think about his life being even more miserable.

Haymitch had found his way to 11’s room (only a floor below his) and found Chaff sneaking out of his room. Haymitch smiled as Chaff ran to the elevator. He was surprised when Chaff pushed the floor for 7 so they could gather up Johanna before heading out to get drunk.

District 11 had a record that was almost as bad as 12’s so they were both out of the race pretty early. This year, 7’s tributes were dead as well, but the boy from 4 was still in the games, meaning that Finnick wasn’t around to entertain her.

She was quieter now than Haymitch remembered, but the anger was still present, radiating off her in waves. He hoped some booze would wash some of it away, but he remembered the feeling of losing everything. He knew it wouldn’t be so easy to let go.

Haymitch just wanted to get to the bar. Just wanted to drink away everything. Drink away dead tributes. Drink away what Snow had done to him and his family.

Drink away how Effie Trinket tasted.

Haymitch cursed his body for betraying, reacting just to the thought of last night. He hoped neither of the victors had noticed. His glance told him they hadn’t.

They went out, away from the games to a Capitol bar Haymitch knew Chaff was fond of. Mostly because they featured beers and liquors from every district, so that Chaff could have that swill his people called whiskey.

Haymitch ordered a double of his own hometown’s brew. He then asked for a bottle since he had no desire to continue to order drinks. It was privilege of being a celebrity that he was allowed to have it. The three of them gathered their drinks and Chaff and Haymitch found a spot to sit in the back where it was unlikely they’d be noticed.

It took a moment for Johanna to join them. Haymitch and Chaff were old men, their games happened ages ago. But Johanna was young, fresh and her games in recent memory.

Haymitch scoffed. At least the pretty girl wouldn’t have to pay for all of her own booze.

Three bottles of something from District 7 beat the victor to the table. She smiled at the collection, even though it looked more predatory than grateful. Haymitch smirked, “You planning on sharing, sweetheart?”

“You two can manage your own drinks,” responded Johanna, who didn’t bother with a glass. Instead she picked up a bottle and began downing most of the drink.

They all were lost in their own worlds for a moment. Haymitch didn’t like the silence, for once. He kept thinking about Effie. Kept thinking about how she rolled her hips, kept thinking about how she mewed, kept thinking…

“You were right, old man.” Johanna’s words brought Haymitch brought him back to the present.

“Yeah,” Haymitch wished he had something better to say. Wished he was better at consoling someone who lost everything.

“Did Snow…” Johanna bit her lip. “Did he ever…What did he ask from the two of you?”

Both men knew what she was really asking. Knew what Snow had asked from her. Chaff answered first, holding his stump of a right hand, “No one wants a cripple.”

Haymitch took a deep drink, but could feel the young woman’s eyes on him. He answered, “They didn’t do that shit when I was younger and no one wants a fat drunk now.”

“So you didn’t…”

“Your escort arranged it. Didn’t she?” Chaff asked.

“Yeah. I have an appointment tomorrow, but I don’t want to…”

“Do it.” Chaff said in a tone that didn’t allow for argument. “It’ll be easier than resisting.”

Johanna’s eyes looked to Haymitch, as if he could rescue her. As if he had any other advice to give her. He sighed, “Make it as terrible as possible and hopefully they’ll forgot you in a few years.”

Johanna reacted as though she’d been hit. “I know Finnick had to do it. He’s too pretty…” She bit her lip again, as if stopping herself from saying too much. “I hoped there was some way to avoid it. I don’t want to take everything from me. They’ve took enough already.”

“It’s never enough,” Chaff said, raising his bottle to his lips. “For them, everything you have still isn’t enough for them.”

Johanna laughed, it was a bitter sound. “To our masters.” She put up her bottle in toast.

Haymitch followed, but Chaff added, “May they all burn soon.”

Haymitch worried that this wasn’t the place for that kind of talk, but then what would they do? No one at this table had anything to lose anymore.

He finished his bottle.

 

* * *

 

Going up to the bar, Haymitch was surprised when the man he pushed out of his way responded, “Haymitch?” 

Haymitch glanced over. He recognized the man, but it took a moment for his alcohol soaked brain to supply a name.

Cinna.

“What are you doing here?”

“You know, I do live in the Capitol.”

Haymitch signaled the bartender for another, but Cinna stopped the man, “Put that on my tab, Enrico.”

Christ. Haymitch stood up from his position leaning over the bar, “You know I’m not interested in men.”

“I just want five minutes of your time. You know what I really am.”

Haymitch knew. A rebel. And while Haymitch understood victors’ reasons, he didn’t understand why a Capitol would choose to rebel. His bottle arrived. For a moment Cinna’s eyes bulged. Haymitch nearly chuckled though he didn’t feel bad. Let the Capitol kid buy a bit more than he meant to.

Cinna escorted him to a back room. Haymitch wondered again if this would-be stylist wasn’t looking for something more. “Seriously, not into that.”

“I’m not asking for that. I just want privacy.”

Haymitch hoped no one had seen it. He didn’t want Effie to catch wind of this, he could imagine the screeching.

Then again, she’d probably be avoiding him for the rest of the games.

Cinna took a deep breath. “I wanted to explain a little about me.”

Haymitch took a seat and a drink. “Well, I’m not stopping you, guyliner.”

Cinna frowned at the nickname, but continued on. “My mother is from the Capitol, but my father was a victor. He was from 9. My mother…” Cinna hesitated. “…she paid for it.”

Nothing about this story seemed unusual yet, but Haymith thought they usually had strong birth control deals when it came to those arrangements. But then he remember the man Cinna must be talking about. Haymitch couldn’t remember the guy’s name but he’d won a few games after his. He’d been the Finnick of his day. This bastard might be the reason there were strong birth controls in place now.

“Well, I grew up thinking of my father as a hero. My mother pulled a few a strings, which allowed us to visit my father’s home district. We were both shocked by what we found there. The poverty, the anger, it was all a complete shock to us.

“My mother didn’t speak on the train ride back, but when she arrived at the Capitol, she began to petition for District rights. Not long after that, she was taken away by some peacekeepers. I still don’t know what happened to her.”

Haymitch heard the tone of sadness in the other man’s voice. It reminded him of when Effie told him about her dad’s ‘accident.’ Maybe he did understand why some Capitols would rebel as well.

“I was actually a minor celebrity when born as most victors didn’t have Capitol children. I never really knew my dad growing up, but it’s not like we could have had much a relationship anyway. I finally met him a couple of years ago, but he really hadn’t been interested in getting to know me. Couldn’t even properly hate him for that since it wasn’t like he’d ever loved my mother. Never thought of her of anything but a client.”

Yeah, Shaun was his name, that guy had always been a bit of a dick. Haymitch didn’t really know the guy, except that 25 years ago, he was the prettiest victor of them all, with his jade eyes that contrasted sharply with his otherwise dark features. The couple of times he’d met him, Shaun had seemed like a zombie. He walked around but didn’t say much, and never showed any emotion. Never bothered to hide the fact that he was completely dead inside.

Haymitch wasn’t sure if that made him weak or honest.

“I wanted to continue my mother’s mission. Unfortunately, I found out, after many career changes, the only skill I had to back up my conviction was making pretty dresses, which is a great skill for a Capital, but doesn’t really translate into rebellion.”

“Rebel troops gotta wear something,” Haymitch shrugged.

Cinna chuckled, “I suppose so. I’ve been petitioning to be District 9’s stylist. Figured I could make a difference for my home, even if in a small way.”

“Those two are pets of Snow’s. You won’t get in there until they die.”

Cinna shrugged. “I need a partner anyway. That’s what they told me. They’d rather two stylists than one.”

Haymitch had nothing to say to that. He didn’t really know about stylists and how they were selected. Effie might have better advice.

He needed to stop thinking about her.

Cinna said, thoughtfully, “Maybe if I asked for a different district.”

Haymtich didn’t like the look in the young stylist’s eyes. “No one wins from 12.”

“Maybe you’re due.”

Haymitch stood up. He’d heard enough. “I need to get back to my people.”

“We’re all on the same side, Haymitch. You know who the real enemy is.”

He did. But what could he do?

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Effie waited for Haymitch to emerge. There were only three tributes left, so he’d probably be leaving today and she didn’t want a repeat of last year. They would need to get past the awkwardness, need to keep in contact for strategy reasons. She got up to rearrange the flowers on the table again.

Haymitch didn’t come out of his room until 11. Effie was annoyed by this, but tried to push it down. She smiled, “Good morning.”

Haymitch seemed surprised to find her here. “What’s so good about it?” He walked over to the booze cart. Effie wanted to push a cup of coffee into his hands, but figured he wouldn’t take it in his hungover state. She left him fill his own glass.

He plopped down across from her. Effie realized she couldn’t really see him with the large floral arrangement in the middle of the table. She really should have noticed that in these past few hours.

“I wanted to talk about…” she hesitated. “Our working relationship.”

“What about it?”

“I want us to be a team. I think the better we work together, the better our chances of producing a victor.”

“Jesus, Effie. Aren’t you done with this yet?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I thought you’d stop caring. When are you going to just go numb like the rest of us?”

Effie struggled not to raise her voice. As if overcompensating, she nearly replied in a whisper, “I’m not giving up.” Her voice got stronger. “I’m not going to give up. I may have a moment of weakness.” That was the closest she’d ever get to admitting their previous night of passion, she decided. “But I will not give up. I will have a victor, Haymitch.”

Haymitch sighed, looking out the window at the artificial skyline. “You ever hear of a Cinna guy, stylist?”

Effie was confused by the topic change. “Of course, he’s one of the most popular up-and-coming stylists in the Capitol. How would you know him?”

Haymitch’s eyes flicked to the television. The games were officially over. The boy from 2 had won. “He may be joining our team.” He finished his drink in one gulp.

Effie was still confused. Why on earth would someone with as hot as a career as Cinna join them? “That would be wonderful, if it was true.”

Haymitch looked at her with burning eyes. Effie grew uncomfortable under his intense gaze. Haymitch threw his chair back and came to lean over her. Effie flinched back.

“What game are you playing, Effie?”

Effie jutted out her chin. “The one we’ve both been forced into, Haymitch. And I plan on winning.”

“No one wins these games, sweetheart. They just survive them.”

Effie could feel his breath on her. She knew she should tell him to step away from her, but flashes kept coming to her. Flashes that made her want him. “The way you do?”

“How do you survive, Effie?”

Effie backed away, getting out of her chair. “The Hunger Games are over, Haymitch. It’s time for you to get on your train home.

He studied her as she walked away from him. For the first time, he wondered about her. Wanted to know more.

She was right, it was time for him to go home.


	15. Chapter 15

Haymitch wished Effie had avoided him again. She was back to calling him every day. “Haymitch, are you even listening to me?” 

“Not really.”

He could see her stamping her foot in his mind. “Well, I’m trying to strategize. Trying to ensure we don’t send back coffins again next year.”

“Good luck with that, sweetheart.”

He thought she’d hang up on him, but to his surprise, she didn’t. Her voice softened, “I can’t handle anymore dead children, Haymitch.”

Haymitch knew this wasn’t a secure line. He responded as best he could, “Tributes, Effie. They’re tributes. Keep repeating that to yourself.”

“They are tributes.”

“Right.”

“I have to go.”

“I know.”

She hung up and Haymitch picked up a bottle.

They were tributes, not dead children. A necessary evil. He couldn’t save them. Worthless to try. 

He repeated this to himself until he drank himself to sleep.

 

* * *

 

“Welcome to the 73rd Hunger Games!” Effie smiled. She no longer varied the speech every year. It never got shown and no one seemed to care one way or the other.

She glanced over to Haymitch, who only seemed half-drunk this year. She smiled again, “Ladies first.”

She stepped over to the bowl of the names, picked one and returned to her microphone. “Cindy Romus.”

She applauded as a terrified 14 or 15 year old approached the stage. She tried to encourage the girl, wanted her to smile. The girl was almost pretty. She might clean up well once they got her to the Capitol.

“Smile,” Effie tried to communicate without saying a word. But the girl was too lost in her terror.

Effie nearly sighed. Why did she bother?

She picked the boy, “Grover Mathers.”

The boy was young. Too young. Effie still smiled but didn’t bother trying to silently communicate her thoughts to him. He wouldn’t last past the bloodbath.

No. She would not give in to cynicism. She wanted a winner. She wanted out of here. Away from confusing, drunk victors. Away from sad districts with sad children who only died.

The boy had as much of a chance as any of the other 23 children who entered the arena. 

“May the odds be ever in your favor!”

 

* * *

 

Haymitch stayed in the bar car. Effie would usually fetch him to begin “mentoring,” but this time she left him be. He wondered what drivel she was speaking at them.

He hoped she’d at least ordered some good food for the kids. They should enjoy a few good last meals. It was all they could have.

The whiskey burned down his throat. He didn’t want to be here. He hated escorting children to their deaths. He knew the rebellion hoped for a winner that could help start a fire of revolution, but he just wanted another District 12 victor so he could stay home and not have to worry about dead children. Chaff got that freedom. If he slacked off, Seeder picked up for him. Why couldn’t Haymitch have something like that?

Why couldn’t one of these kids win? Why couldn’t Effie pick a winner?

He knew it was the kids’ fault. They never stood a chance. It took a combination of dumb luck and skill that was almost impossible to find. He had been lucky and figured out a strategy before entering the arena. He’d had a friend and ally through most of it.

Maysilee Donner.

He tried never to think about her, but now he tried to remember her before the games. She’d been one of the rich kids at school – even now, her sister had married the mayor. She had lived a completely different life than his. He didn’t know anything about her hopes and dreams. He hadn’t bothered getting to know her on that train ride. At the time, he’d thought, “What would be the point? It’s me versus all the tributes. I promised I would come back. If I have to kill Maysilee Donner to do it, how is learning her favorite color going to help that?”

He wished he’d tried now. It might have made it harder in the long run, but it would be nice to have a memory of her that wasn’t made in the arena.

He guessed he’d had one. The sister had sought him out a couple of days after his return to the district. She may be the only person that visited him in the Victor’s Village, just to see him and not fetch him for some responsibility.

She had come to say thank you. “Thank you for staying with Mays.”

He’d grumbled. “Well, I owed her for the thing with the career.”

“Yeah, but still. I know you weren’t friends, but I like to think at least she died with a friend by her side.” She looked around from her tea at the house. It was bigger than any of the others in the district.

The Capitol saw to that.

“I’m glad you won, Haymitch.”

“You wouldn’t have preferred your sister?”

“Well, of course…” she stammered. “I just mean…if it couldn’t be her, then I’m glad it was you.”

Haymitch noticed something, a pin on her jacket. “What’s that?”

“Oh, it’s a mockingjay.”

“What?”

“You know, a mockingjay.”

He remembered now. “Does the Capitol know about it? If the wrong peacekeeper sees you with it, it’ll be taken away and you could be flogged.”

She jutted her chin out. “It was Mays’. I’m not giving it to them.”

Haymitch admired her courage. So much like her sister. He remembered that it was the first time he’d craved a drink. “You shouldn’t wear it.”

Effie stormed into the bar car, interrupting the rest of the memory. “Those children have the manners of beasts, Haymitch. I don’t know what we’re going to do with them.”

Without asking what she wanted, Haymitch poured Effie a drink. She sat next to him. “They are starving children. The districts don’t care about manners the way you Capitol folk do.”

“It’s people from the Capitol they must impress.” Effie took a drink and then wrinkled her nose at the strength of the booze. “You must see them tomorrow. They might listen to you.”

Haymitch really didn’t see the point, but knew it would be easier to agree than fight with Effie. He grunted hoping she would take that as a yes.

She did.

 

* * *

 

Effie had always been an early riser. She never understood how some people could sleep in and miss half of the daylight hours. There was too much to do for her to be so wasteful. She got up, made sure the kitchen had their breakfast orders. Then she usually got the children up so that they could get a good breakfast in and begin to be coached. If she had the energy, she might drop in to rouse Haymitch from his hangover. 

She hoped Haymitch would keep his promise and show up today. Not that he had actually promised her anything; he would never make such a mistake, but she wanted him to help.

A flash of last year, unbidden, came to her mind. When he helped her to lay down on his bed. When he returned the favor, getting on his knees.

She hated when her mind did that. She had a year to get over it, and she mostly was, but sometimes she would remember what they did and it always upset her. She never should have let it happen.

And she certainly needed to stop wishing it would happen again.

The boy was up, rubbing his eyes and yawning. Effie grinned, “Well, hello…” Crap, she’d forgotten his name. She wrote it down in her notes, she’d just shuffle through them and find it indiscreetly. “Good morning. Have some breakfast.”

She kept smiling, guiding the child to a chair. He didn’t bother with the plate and silverware, grabbing pancakes and eating them with his bare hands.

It made Effie lose her smile. They would have a lot of work to do on proper manners. “Use your fork…” She really wished she could remember his name. It wasn’t good if the Capitol person on your side couldn’t remember something like that. It meant he would attract no sponsors.

That’s why you’re here, she reminded herself. You’re here to teach him manners and skills to help him attract sponsors. Her job was to make him memorable. She pulled back on his shoulders slightly, so he wasn’t hunched over his food like a caveman.

He went back to his terrible slouched position before she had the chance to take her seat. She nearly sighed. Effie had a lot of work ahead of her.

A noise in the hall interrupted her thoughts, and Effie hoped it meant Haymitch would be joining them, but it was just the girl. She looked like she hadn’t gotten any sleep. The dark circles under her eyes were most unbecoming.

Her work would be an uphill battle with the girl as well.

Every year, Effie seemed to forget how much work she always had to do during the games. She tried to prepare for it, but every year it seemed liked none of her preparations mattered. She was just taking two more lambs to market to try to sell to a good, nice family, but always ended up escorting them to the butcher.

She grew weary of it.

No one understood her sorrow either. They just saw the glamour. Yes, she didn’t have a good district, but she was still one of only 12 escorts. She was invited to all of the exclusive parties, got to meet with past victors, and even managed to spin her fame to some side gigs, like modeling and hosting a countdown show in the games’ off-season. In the Capitol, she always managed to put her happy face on and act like it was a glamorous life and she loved every minute of it.

But she just wanted to put the mask aside for a minute, but even now, she had a smile caked on. It wouldn’t help the tributes to see her despair. They needed to think that someone was on their side. That they had a shot, no matter how remote, at winning. Attitude was important, regardless of what Haymitch tried to say.

She just wanted someone to understand her.

Haymitch stumbled in at that moment, and her lips automatically pulled down. His noisy entrance had caused both of the kids to stop eating and stare at their clearly still drunk mentor. She corrected them, “It’s rude to stare, children.”

Haymitch ignored them, grabbing a piece of toast, and putting down a glass of what appeared to be whiskey. Effie forced a smile back onto her face. “Haymitch, I’m so happy to see you.” She inwardly cursed herself for forgetting the kids’ names as she had to refer to them generically. “Children, you may already be aware, but this is your mentor, Mr. Haymtich Abernathy.”

Both children continued to stare at the food on their plates though Haymitch did look at both of them. Effie tried again, “Haymitch, why don’t you tell the kids a little about your time in the games?”

Haymitch’s eyes connected with hers immediately. There was something dark and angry in them. “Well, I almost died. Try to do that. Emphasis on the almost.”

“Really, Haymitch. There’s no need to frighten them.”

“I don’t need to. It’s a natural reaction and really, they should be frightened.”

“That is exactly the wrong kind of attitude to have.”

“I’m sorry? Is there a correct attitude to have?”

“Of course. A positive one.”

“Wake up, sweetheart. Attitude doesn’t mean shit.”

“Yes it does. Attitude goes a long way in the Capitol.”

“That only proves my point: attitude doesn’t mean shit.”

If Effie had been standing, she would have stamped her foot. “Why must you be so infuriating?”

Haymitch smirked. “You make it too easy, princess.”

The boy let out a bark that might have been a laugh. Every eye turned to him. He explained, “Sorry. It’s just weird to get a sudden reminder of home.”

Effie beamed. It was about time someone recognized the plant life she chose reflected what could be found in 12. “Thank you. Did you see much katniss or primrose around your home?”

The boy looked confused, “Huh? What I meant was you two sound like my parents.”

Effie and Haymitch were stunned, but the girl was quick to agree. “Yeah, it’s like that thing people say, bickering like an old married couple.”

Neither Effie nor Haymitch knew how to respond to that. There was an awkward moment before Effie remembered herself. “Have you children tried the double chocolate muffins?” She grabbed two from the table. “They are almost like a dessert for breakfast.”

Both kids eagerly took their muffins, devouring them with the same lack of manners that Effie wasn’t sure how she’d correct in such a short timeframe. She glanced over at Haymitch, who still looked shocked that anyone would compare him and Effie to a married couple.

It was bound to be a long day.

 

* * *

 

Haymitch avoided the kids for the rest of the day. They’d arrive in the Capital tomorrow, and then it would be easier. He would be able to get drunk properly and forget the kids and Effie.

Effie. He knew it wasn’t fair that he always left the kids up to her. But that was her job, right? To escort them, make sure they got to places on time and understood the differences with the Capitol.

He didn’t want to think of Effie. It was so much easier when he hated his escort. But he kept trying and failing to hate her. He didn’t really like her; she actually annoyed the crap out of him, but he realized he was beginning to care about her.

Then again, his mind flashed to her moaning, facing away from him on her knees, maybe he was just hoping for a repeat of last year.

Before he could think about it too much he found himself outside of her door. He knocked.

 Effie was annoyed by the knock. Her wig itched and she had been preparing to take it off. She threw on a robe and opened the door. Haymitch barged in past her.

“Excuse you. I did not invite you in,” she said, but closed the door behind him.

Now that he was in here, Haymitch wasn’t sure why he’d felt compelled to come here. He put on his best grin and held up the bottle he’d brought with him. “Thought you might like some company.”

She didn’t actually look like she wanted company, but Haymitch ignored that, sitting down on her bed and opening his bottle. Effie wrapped her robe a little tighter, glancing at the door. “Did anyone see you come in here?”

Haymitch scowled, “Does that matter?”

“It’s not proper.”

“I don’t give a shit. And besides, we might just be talking shop.”

Effie nodded, sitting at her vanity. “Right, we should talk about our strategy for…” She glanced at a slip of paper. “…for Cindy and Grover.”

Haymitch hadn’t actually wanted to do that, but he knew it would help Effie relax if he played along. “You can’t remember their names, huh?” He looked around for something to pour Effie’s drink into, as he also knew she wouldn’t want to share the bottle. “I thought that was the height of rudeness.”

“I’m still getting to know them.”

“You shouldn’t get to know them. It just makes it harder.”

Effie looked ready to argue with him, and Haymitch was ready for it. He even sort of liked arguing with Effie. He knew she wasn’t as smart as him, but she gave as good as she got. So he was surprised when her straightened shoulders hunched. “Haymitch, just get out if you’re going to be rude.”

He didn’t move. “Is something wrong, Effie?”

“Yes,” she looked up at the ceiling before continuing. “I’m sick of dead children. I just want a winner.”

Haymitch knew the feeling, but had no words of comfort for her. Just a bottle. He noticed a cup in her attached bathroom and got up to get it, filling it and setting it before Effie. She ignored it, folding herself into his arms instead.

It was uncomfortable, but he tried to soothe her, patting her back. “There, there.”

He knew this couldn’t be what she wanted. Effie had visions of romance, not awkward hugs in train cars. But she said nothing. After a while, she tugged him to fall on the bed with her, still hugging him. He didn’t disengage, but one part of his body seemed more awake than before. He tried to will it back down.

Haymtich thought Effie was asleep when she whispered to his chest, “They might offer me a promotion if we get a winner.”

Haymitch tensed and he grew less excited, “It’s what you always wanted, another district."

“Yes, it would be good for my career.”

Haymitch hated that when he looked down he saw artificial hair. Effie had picked green as her color this year and it made her look sickly. “I guess.”

Effie moved one of her legs to entwine with Haymitch’s. “I might miss 12, you know.”

Haymitch wondered if that was code for I might miss you. He thought it best to ignore the implications. “You shouldn’t. It’s one of the worst districts.”

“By what measure?”

Haymitch could have spouted facts at her. 12 had the highest poverty rate, the lowest life expectancy, and the fewest number of victors of any district. He went with, “It’s nothing like the Capitol.”

Her answer was soft, “Maybe that’s not so bad.” She played with the opening at the top of his shirt. “They still spit at me, you know. When I deliver coffins to the families, express my condolences.”

“You’re still doing that?”

“It’s the proper thing.”

Haymitch forced Effie to move her head and look up at him, sick of green hair. She had tears in her eyes. He wiped them away with the pads of his thumbs. “For what it’s worth, I’ll miss you. You’ve been my favorite escort.”

Effie smiled, but Haymitch could tell it was fake, “You’re only saying that because I had sex with you.” She laid her head against his chest again.

He forced her to look at him once more. “No, I’m not.”

Effie kissed him. Haymitch’s hands wandered, moving down her back and then back up again. When they reached her wig, he attempted to rip it off. But Effie stopped him as soon as she felt him tug at it, “Don’t.”

He decided not to push it, capturing her mouth once more. He really would miss her if she left; a fact that scared him. He had resolved to never let anyone close again, to never let Snow gain leverage on him.

Haymitch rolled, bringing Effie underneath him. This had to be just sex. For the sake of them both, it would go no further than a physical thing. He might care for her as a friend, but he could not let it go any deeper than that.

Her mouth had moved away from his, she was now nibbling on his earlobe. It drove him crazy. He moved his hand under her robe to feel between her legs. She was already wet.

Without preamble, he undid his trousers and thrust in. If Effie objected, she showed it with a moan. Haymitch moved quickly. He could feel the effects of the bottle he’d consumed earlier in the evening and was afraid he wouldn’t be able to last long.

He at least wanted to give Effie some pleasure first. He shifted to support his weight on one arm, the other hand dived between her legs to find that knob that would make her moan again.

It didn’t take long to find. Effie’s nails were digging into his back now. Her breath was in his ear, telling him, “Don’t stop.”

He could feel his end coming. It was too soon. He tried to get Effie there with him, but she was too far away. He wouldn’t last.

As if the thought cursed him, he came with a grunt into her garish wig.

Effie’s breathing slowed and he pulled out of her, rolling off of her. She wiped between her legs, ridding herself of the excess. He wasn’t sure what he should say. Did guys apologize when this happened? It had happened to him before, but he hadn’t cared what Capitol sluts thought of him.

The sad thing was Effie, queen of manners, would probably know the exact polite response. 

She looked awkward, but said, “I need to get ready for bed.” She swung her legs over to the side of the bed and stood. “You probably shouldn’t spend the night. We wouldn’t want rumors to start.”

He nodded, understanding her words on an intellectual level, but still feeling lost. She went into her private bathroom and shut the door.

Haymitch fastened his pants, getting out of her bed. Why had he come here? What was that about?

He didn’t care to analyze it. He itched for a drink, wanting to drown out the thoughts racing in his head. He left Effie’s room to head straight for the bar car. No one saw him.

 

* * *

 

Effie was all smiles as she escorted the children off the train and onto the platform. Cameras flashed around them, and she did her best to shield the children while trying to remind them to smile. 

Both of the kids just looked scared and overwhelmed. It didn’t bode well for their chances in the game.

Effie kept the disappointment from her face. She’d learned to school her expressions well and she didn’t want any possible sponsors watching to think that her tributes didn’t stand a chance. If she thought that way, everyone else would too.

She looked at the kids again. Even them.

* * *

 

Haymitch had noticed Effie was avoiding him since the incident on the train. The few times he did see her, usually during meals with the tributes, she always made sure she had buffers. Even Haymitch followed the rules of propriety not to discuss sex in front of children. 

It helped that he still wasn’t sure what to say about it. He didn’t really regret it, wanted it to become a continuing thing if she’d let it. But he knew the last time hadn’t really been good for her.

Maybe he could make it up to her. If she would let him.

It wasn’t until they watched scores together that he was able to be with her for a long period of time. Even then, the tributes and stylists were with them though no one seemed interested. He kept glancing at Effie, but she just watched the screen with a fake look of interest.

Haymitch wondered when he’d figured out that was her fake look rather than a real one.

Neither child scored above a five, surprising no one. Effie tried to brush it off, smiling, “Well, that’s a good thing. You know low scores allow for an underdog as no one really pays attention to you. I’m not sure if you remember Johanna Mason’s games, but…”

Hearing the name Johanna Mason was like a gut punch, and Haymitch downed the remainder of his drinking. He poured himself another one.

He hadn’t heard anything from anyone, not Plutarch, not Chaff, no one had contacted him during these games.

The revolution had been put on hold.

Haymitch downed another glass in one swallow, immediately refilling it. Out of the corner of his eye he watched the stylists sneak out. He wondered if that Cinna guy was full of shit when he said he wanted to join District 12’s team.

After another glass, Haymitch turned around, surprised to find himself alone with Effie. She was staring at the now black screen. He wondered what she was thinking.

“Effie…”

“They’re going to die, aren’t they?”

Her voice had none of its usual cheer and as annoying as he found it, he longed for it right now. He sat down beside her, but Effie didn’t react. “Probably.”

Her head dropped to her hands, but the sound of crying Haymitch expected never came. She looked over to him, still resting on her lap. “Have you ever noticed a camera in your room?”

It seemed an odd change in topic. “No. Why?”

Effie stood and held out a hand to him. “Take me to bed then.”

Haymitch didn’t need to be asked twice.

 

* * *

 

Effie wondered what was wrong with her. She shouldn’t be sleeping with her mentor. Nothing good ever happened when an escort entered into a relationship with a victor. It went against her training, it went against her morals. 

But playing with the sprinkling of blond hair on Haymitch’s chest, she found she didn’t care.

She would have to leave soon. It would be no good if anyone spotted her leaving Haymitch’s room. Even Avoxs were occasionally used as spies for either Snow or tabloids. She didn’t want to deal with the PR.

Although a little gossip around District 12 could be good, the generated interest could help them win sponsors.

She dismissed the thought as quickly as it had come. The gossip might make the District get more attention but the tributes would get lost in the limelight. The focus had to be on them.

Effie rolled away from Haymitch. She rose from the bed and began to collect her things from around the room. She was nearly dressed when Haymitch’s voice caused her to jump, “Leaving so soon?”

Effie secured the belt on her dress. “It would do no good to be seen together in this way.” She fetched her shoes, carrying them in her hand instead of wearing them out.

“Effie, what the hell are we doing?”

Effie stopped, with her hand poised over the door handle. She took a moment before answering over her shoulder, “We’re comforting each other. That’s all this is.”

She walked out.

 

* * *

 

It continued to happen. Like clockwork, about an hour after everyone went to sleep, Haymitch would hear a tapping at his door. He always let her in. Sometimes they would drink together first. Sometimes they would have sex then drink. Sometimes there would be no drinking, just sex. 

Effie was right – it was comforting. Haymitch did forget about the dead children he escorted in these games when he was with her. She even managed to chase away some of the nightmares from his own games and life.

For the first time ever, Haymitch was not looking forward to the end of the games and returning to District 12.

Their behavior outside of his room hadn’t changed. They fought and bickered constantly when they didn’t just flat out ignore each other. They hadn’t talked about it, but Haymitch knew it would be better if no one saw any change in their relationship.

Haymitch slept in the morning it was time to take the tributes to their games, leaving Effie to do it alone. He knew it wasn’t fair to her, but then, life wasn’t fair.

He was out in the living room when she returned. Her face had no expression, but he thought that alone told him something. She would normally force a smile for the stylists in the room.

She gathered the champagne flutes for their annual toast. Caesar Flickerman was gushing about his favorites this game – a handsome, chiseled boy from 1 named Shine and a pretty girl from 4 who’d dyed her hair aquamarine named Lara.

They’d both gathered a ranking of 10.

Haymitch twirled the liquid in the glass Effie handed him. He still thought the whole tradition was stupid as it had brought them no luck, but it wasn’t like it mattered.

The countdown begun…30.

The arena this year was an open plain with ruins scattered about. There would be few places to hide. Their kids would be in trouble.

20.

The cornucopia looked larger than usual and Haymitch noticed a trident among the weapons. He guessed one of the gamemakers had Lara as a favorite as well.

10.

Both tributes from 12 were twitching with fear. Haymitch turned his head away from the screen.

“Oh,” Effie stood up. “We usually drink before the games start. We need to toast now.”

5.

“Does it really matter, Effie?”

4.

Effie stomped her foot. “Yes, Haymitch, it matters. I’ve explained this to you before, but traditions are important.”

3.

Haymitch stood now too. “Fine.” He held up his flute, “Here’s to another year and another bloodbath.” He downed his drink as Effie glared at him.

2.

Haymitch nearly spit out his drink. “What was that? It’s not champagne.”

 1.

Effie answered, finishing her drink. “It’s sparkling grape juice. We shouldn’t drink so much, Haymitch. You especially.”

The buzzer filled the room, but it was ignored.

“Listen, I’ve told you time and again, to leave me alone about my drinking.”

“Well, it would be better for your district and your tributes if you could be seen as more than a drunk.”

“When are you going to get this through your fuzzy fake pink hair? It doesn’t matter. Nothing either of us does matters.”

“It could. We could help those children win.”

“District 12 doesn’t win. We aren’t like the career districts we don’t train our children for the games. We just train them to accept their deaths, be it by a career’s spear, a peacemaker’s gun or a mining accident.”

“That’s just depressing. Not everyone in your district thinks like you.”

“Yes they do. I represent them, remember?”

“Well, you don’t do it very well!”

One of the stylists peeped up, “Hey, um, guys. Both of 12’s tributes are dead.”

Effie and Haymitch stopped looking at each other and stared at the screen. Sure enough, Cindy had a trident sticking out her back that Lara was removing and Grover was a few feet away, face down and surrounded by a pool of blood. Haymitch guessed it had been a knife wound, but it could have been a trident as well.

Without a word, Effie left the room. Haymitch heard her bedroom door slam a few moments later.

 

* * *

 

Effie looked at her clock. The numbers 12:49 blinked back at her. She wasn’t sure why she was surprised that Haymitch had went out with his drinking buddies, but she was. She had thought he might follow her to her room once the stylists left.

She had hoped, anyway.

Still, she couldn’t sleep without knowing he was here. She wasn’t sure why. She’d never waited up for him before and if she did it was usually just to lecture him. 

But she didn’t feel like lecturing him now. Didn’t really feel much of anything.

She just wished Haymitch was here to comfort her.

 

* * *

 

Haymitch found himself drinking less than usual. Not that any of his companions noticed. Chaff’s kids were out of the games already too. Johanna still had boy alive, but she already said he wouldn’t make it through the night. Finnick had two living tributes, but he was here with Johanna after they had both finished another job for the Capitol. 

Haymitch didn’t need to ask what kind of job considering neither was wearing much in terms of clothing.

Haymitch kept thinking about Effie, wondering if he should be with her tonight. But her door hadn’t opened after she’d closed it. Not even when dinner had arrived, so he guessed what she was really looking for was some space.

But out here in a Capitol bar, he just wanted to leave and be with her. Despite having more in common with the people he was with and Chaff being his best friend, he just wanted to go home to Effie.

He took a drink. Never should he consider anywhere in the Capitol his home.

Johanna caught sight of something past Haymitch’s shoulder, and hit Finnick to get his attention as well. Both looked alarmed and curious. Haymitch didn’t want to turn around, but he raised an eyebrow.

Finnick noticed and answered, “Gloss and Cashmere just walked in.”

Chaff asked, “Who?”

Finnick answered again, “Career tributes, brother and sister. They won the games just before mine.”

“What are they doing here?”

Johanna answered this time, “Same thing as us.” Everyone looked to her. She shrugged. “They got me ready in the same room as Cashmere. Lots of Capitol folk love some incest action, apparently.”

Haymitch glanced over, the victors noticed their table, but rushed off to the other side of the bar. The girl seemed upset, but her brother shielded her through. They usually looked so perfect and put together. “Really? I thought they were faithful Capitol dogs?”

Johanna shrugged, “Guess it doesn’t help. Being one of them. We’re all being used. Some of us just like the look and feel of our collars a little better than others.”

 

* * *

 

It was 2 a.m. before Haymitch made it to the elevator to the penthouse. The others had decided to go to another bar that stayed open late, but Haymitch had begged off. He pushed the P button, but before the elevator doors could close a hand stopped them.

Plutarch Heavensbee walked in.

Haymitch leaned against the back of the moving box, closing his eyes. God, he was tired. “Should you be here?”

“Sometimes Gamemakers stay in one of the unused suites to get a little rest during the games. You haven’t left your rooms much these games.”

Chaff had commented on the same thing. “Never did have much of an interest in the Capitol scene.”

The elevator whooshed by floors and Haymitch wondered why Plutarch didn’t get to his point sooner. They would arrive at the penthouse soon. “I spoke to Alma Coin recently.”

“Really? She still convinced Johanna is her girl?”

Plutarch frowned, “No. We agree that we will need someone who’s a little less rough around the edges.”

We. Just how much pull did Plutarch have with that woman? The doors opened. “Well, if that’s all.”

Plutarch pushed the button to force the doors shut. “We need to regroup. Cinna will be join District 12 as a stylist next year. He will let you know of any further plans. His new partner, Portia, is also sympathetic to our cause.”

“Is that the apology for taking Effie away?” Haymitch hadn’t said that. The booze had said that.

Plutarch seemed confused. “What? No one is taking Effie away from 12.”

Haymitch looked at his feet, grumbling, “Just heard that she was going to be promoted.”

Plutarch chuckled and Haymitch longed to punch him in the face like he’d done before, “Effie’s never going to be transferred now. She’s too good at handling you.”

Haymitch wondered if it would be the right thing to tell her that. That all of her ambition was for nothing? She was too good at her job to climb the ladder.

He knew he wasn’t going to tell her, but he wondered about his reasons.

“You care about Effie?” Plutarch asked.

“Of course not,” Haymitch answered automatically. “I’ve just had a lot of bad escorts over the years, and she’s not terrible.”

Plutarch nodded, as if filing away the information. Haymitch really wished he hadn’t said anything. Plutarch knowing any information about him seemed like a bad thing. The gamemaker said, “Our sympathizers are growing you know. We got a film director now, Cressida Domley.”

“What the hell do you need a filmmaker for?”

Plutarch shrugged, “You never know.” Haymitch thought there must be some plan behind Plutarch’s dismissal. He wouldn’t have mentioned otherwise.

Conniving bastard.

“Well, I just wanted to connect and be sure to remind you to keep your eyes and ears open. We still need a voice. Someone to rally the troops, so to speak.”

Heavensbee said it with his usual smug smirk. He let go of the button keeping the doors closed and Haymitch pushed the man out of his way as he stomped to his suite.

He was still mad upon entering, but quieted almost immediately, not wanting to wake Effie. He snuck to his room, but noticed the light trailing out of Effie’s. Was she still awake?

Haymitch tapped lightly on her door, so as not to wake her if she was sleeping. Within a matter of seconds the door was opened.

Effie said nothing, but her face was free of make-up and her wig was gone though her head was wrapped under a silk scarf that matched her robe.

Haymitch had never seen her look so beautiful.

She stepped aside and he walked in. She closed the door behind him. He noticed the bottle of liquor on her vanity, and wondered if she’d been waiting for him. He dismissed the thought, she sometimes drank to forget too.

He sat on her bed and she curled into him. It felt more natural now, to have her in his embrace. She didn’t even scold him for not taking off his shoes before climbing into her bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N. As we approach canon, I’m going to be picking and choosing what I take from the books, what I take from the movies and what I just plain make-up. Just an FYI for the purists out there.
> 
>  


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